


False Pretenses

by MeridianGrimm



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Get ready for fake dating tropes, Horror, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Romance, Set during S1, Spoilers for the TMA universe through S4, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22622557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeridianGrimm/pseuds/MeridianGrimm
Summary: Playing the skeptic isn’t the only lie that Jon has told on tape.  He’d like to avoid his annoying feelings for Martin Blackwood as much as possible, but unfortunately, the isolated hotel where Georgie Barker’s girlfriend has mysteriously vanished is only booking for their annual couples’ retreat.  Although Martin would love to spend a weekend away from London and the threat of Prentiss, he fears that posing as Jon’s partner will reveal the depth of his affections.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 586
Kudos: 1517





	1. Some Reservations

**Author's Note:**

> Please imagine Jon “Unreliable Narrator” Sims, who spent all of s1 pretending not to believe in the supernatural, also pretending that he really, totally, definitely hasn’t been pining after Martin for years. This fic takes place after MAG 22 but before MAG 28.
> 
> Because this is a mystery, there are necessarily some OC avatars in this fic. All non-canon characters and places are made up and any resemblance to real people or places is coincidental. Also, I know nothing about geography in the UK, so don’t think too hard about where the haunted hotel is or how long it would take to get there. This is a fake dating fic.

Jon stares down at the heading of Georgie’s statement with his heart in his throat. The file is marked with yesterday’s date. Rosie or one of Jon’s assistants must have handed her the statement form and shown her to a quiet room to write, and Jon hadn’t even known she was here. To be fair, Georgie probably hadn’t known that Jon was here, either. He takes a steadying breath and waits for his hands to stop shaking before lifting the page closer.

> _Statement of Georgina Barker regarding a disappearance. Original statement given March 21, 2016._
> 
> _I research ghosts for a living and I don’t scare easily, so the fact that I’m at the Magnus Institute for the first time should tell you something about how serious this is. I’ve been told that I can’t access your Libraries without credentials or someone to vouch for me, so for now I’ll give my report and then speak to whoever gives out the library passes. My colleague and girlfriend, Melanie King, has vanished, and I know that she didn’t leave of her own free will. I’m sure you’ve gotten claims like this before from people whose friends or relatives ran off for one reason or another, but there’s no chance that Melanie is one of them._
> 
> _Melanie hosts the YouTube channel Ghost Hunt UK and I host a podcast called What the Ghost. The two of us, along with our respective coworkers, had talked about doing a collaborative episode for years, and a few weeks ago we finally decided on the Hearth Hotel for the location. I can admit that I was relieved when Melanie agreed. March has been a hard month for her since her father’s death and I had hoped that the collab would give her something to get excited about. I thought a distraction might make this year a little better for her._
> 
> _I should talk about where we were when it happened. The Hearth is located on a seaside cliff that backs up to a large forest. The rocky terrain draws in plenty of hikers and there’s enough access to the ocean to bring in beachgoers, but the natural barriers mean that the hotel is in an isolated spot. Melanie and I were interested in the hotel because dozens of people have gone missing there over the past two decades. There have been reports of large predators in the forest, a suspicious number of mysterious fires, and several disembodied voices on the grounds. The unusual weather patterns even give the place a haunted atmosphere. The number of accounts that we dug up – at least thirty that we thought might be real – convinced us to investigate further. We thought that it might be something particularly powerful that chose to terrorize its victims before hunting them._
> 
> _Due to everyone’s schedules, there was only a short window where both crews would be able to record together, and we jumped on it. We rushed the episode a little because the Hearth was gearing up to host a large event that would prevent us from collecting data. A full, bustling hotel of people does not make for good ghost hunting. On our last night there, both crews drove several bumpy miles to the nearest town to get a few drinks. I asked Melanie if she wanted to come, but she stayed behind on her own. When we all got back from the bar, Melanie was gone. The Ghost Hunt UK van was still there, as well as all of her bags in our room. The hallway camera we set up for the episode shows that after I left the room, she never came out, and none of the hotel’s exterior cameras caught her leaving either. If she’d climbed out our window and wandered off, one of them would have picked her up._
> 
> _There was one strange, unsettling thing about the hallway video feed, and it’s the reason I want access to the Magnus Institute’s Libraries. Just after 11pm, while the rest of us were still out, the feed from the camera cut off without warning for about a minute. Before it stopped, the door to our room was closed and locked, but when the video came back on, the door was open and there was no movement from inside. The guests from the room across the hall said that they heard our door open at the time the camera glitched out, and I think that the timing between the two events is concerning. I checked the camera over thoroughly afterwards and there was nothing wrong with it, no reason why it should have stopped recording for that one crucial minute._
> 
> _I’ve reported Melanie’s disappearance to the local police, but it’s a small department and they’re investigating the fire that happened about two hours later on a different floor of the Hearth. The only details we got were that they think it started with a hotplate and that there were more burnt bodies recovered than people registered to the room. There’s no reason for Melanie to have been there, but that doesn’t alleviate my worry. If you have any resources on supernatural fires or ghosts or other paranormal phenomena that you think apply, please use them. If it’s time that you lack, well, I have two crews of experienced ghost hunters who would eagerly comb through your Libraries for answers the moment we got access._
> 
> _Statement ends._

Jon exhales sharply when he finishes reading, bringing himself back to the present in small increments. He hasn’t reached for a tape recorder yet, but just holding her account, it feels like the twenty or so other statements that won’t record digitally. That terrifies him, both for Georgie’s sake and for Melanie King. He has never met her, but it’s clear that Georgie cares for her a great deal. The idea that Georgie and the others might have brushed up against something genuinely supernatural sends a chill down his spine. Jon needs to handle this investigation himself.

When Jon brings it up to Elias, without mentioning his connection to Georgie, Elias is unimpressed with the statement. “We are academics, Jon, not amateur detectives.”

“It’s research in the field.”

“The Institute is not going to pay for fieldwork unless you can produce a very compelling reason.”

“That’s… fine,” Jon replies, struggling to maintain a mild tone. He’ll have to wait until the weekend to go up to the Hearth, then, and bring back proof of what he finds. “I’ll look through the Libraries and the Archives and see what I can turn up.” Elias smiles like he doesn’t believe Jon, but gestures for him to return to his work.

Back in the Archives, Jon preempts the question about who is going to take on the new investigation. “I’ll be looking into yesterday’s statement from Geo– from Ms. Barker.”

“Sounds good,” Sasha says. “Do you want me to contact the hotel’s staff to see how much they know about the missing woman? Dates and times for her reservations?”

“There’s, ah, no need.” Damn. Jon needs to convey that he wants to deal with this statement alone without betraying the fact that he has a personal stake in the outcome. “I was planning to ask them myself –” yes, good, but that doesn’t explain why Sasha shouldn’t do it, “because I have other reasons to call them.” That’s vague enough.

“Oh? Are they in another statement, then?”

Jon purses his lips. He can’t think of a lie fast enough. “I’m calling about their vacancies for this weekend,” he admits grudgingly.

* * *

Martin is only listening to Jon and Sasha with half an ear, but he looks up from typing when Tim joins the conversation with scandalized delight in his voice. “Boss, are you going away for the weekend on the pretense of researching?”

“No,” Jon snaps, his expression souring like he’s taken a sip of Sasha’s hibiscus tea again. “There’s no pretense. I’m leaving town to research what might have happened to several people who went missing from a supposedly ‘haunted’ hotel. Don’t give me that smug look.”

Tim continues to give him that smug look. “I told you that you needed a break. I just wish I’d thought of that excuse for a holiday.”

“Not a holiday,” Jon grits out. His fists are clenched and his face is flushed and he doesn’t look like he’s lying. The statement must be something special to have drawn Jon’s attention so intensely. Curiosity piqued, Martin sits back in his chair to watch the conversation play out.

Sasha huffs a laugh. “I think you might have some trouble with reservations, Jon.” She glances up from her monitor. “I’m on their website right now and it looks like they’re only booking for an annual couple’s counselling retreat that they’re holding this weekend.”

Martin is treated to a comically appalled look from Jon as he stares at Sasha. It shouldn’t be attractive, but Martin is biased. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not. The coordinators reserved a specific number of rooms for the retreat and those are the only ones left. You would have to register for the event.” In the wake of Jon’s horrified silence, Sasha continues, “One of us could go. You could probably use help with whatever leads you’re looking into. I would offer to be your fake date,” she adds with amusement, prompting an unwanted shiver of jealousy from Martin, “but I can’t miss my sister’s bridal shower this weekend.”

Tim’s face lights up with a mischievous grin, but Jon immediately shakes off his shock to throw him a glare. “Not on your life, Tim. I’d hate you by the end of the weekend and our relationship is fine as it is.”

“But Boss, it would be fun. Or do you not swing my way?”

“Oh, I’d swing _something_ your way,” Jon retorts dryly, “but I don’t think you’d like what I chose.” Martin’s heart thumps oddly at the lack of denial from Jon. Does that mean Jon isn’t straight? Martin has never known either way and there’s no one in the office who’s close enough to ask. It’s not like he could talk to _Jon_ about it.

Tim adopts a mock offended look, to which Jon rolls his eyes. “Well,” Tim says, “I guess that just leaves Martin to be your partner in crime.” Everyone’s attention turns to Martin, which doesn’t help the sudden, violent surge of fear and anticipation bubbling in his stomach.

Martin doesn’t want to do this. Well, he _does_ , but the excited pounding of his heart is drowned out by the voice of reason screaming that this is a terrible idea. If Martin spends a weekend pretending to be Jon’s boyfriend, it’s going to be embarrassingly obvious to Jon how Martin feels about him. Martin knows he won’t be able to get the balance right, to convince strangers that he’s in love with Jon and to convince Jon that he’s not. Would agreeing to the charade be taking advantage of him? It seems dubiously ethical, but Martin doesn’t know who could serve as an impartial judge of the circumstances. Maybe he’s overthinking it. Or maybe he’s not overthinking it, which would be worse. He already knows that agreeing to this would be stupid. As soon as Jon puts the pieces together, he’s going to hate Martin even more than he already does, which will make for a terrible weekend for both of them and a strained working relationship going forward.

On the other hand, though, this is one of the rare occasions where it seems like Jon is willing to accept help. He hasn’t dismissed the idea out of hand yet, which he’s never hesitated to do before when he doesn’t agree with something. He’d instantly reacted to Tim’s puckish delight, but he hasn’t said anything yet about Martin. He might actually need assistance. Plus, this may be the closest Martin ever comes to being in a relationship with Jon, and he can’t deny the allure of playing out his romantic fantasies. How can he say no?

* * *

Jon can almost hear the “ _I told you so”_ chorus from everyone who has ever warned him to think before he speaks. Tim would have teased him mercilessly, but at least he and Jon are good friends and could have passed for a couple if Tim took the trip seriously. Martin is just going to distract him the whole weekend.

In response to Tim’s declaration, Martin turns to Jon. His smile is strained at the edges and Jon hates that he can tell the difference. He hasn’t paid attention to Martin’s smiles in years. Well, maybe months. Definitely months, except for one he lingered over last week when Martin was in a good mood. “When do we leave?”

Martin’s not backing out, then. Jon really is stuck with him alone for the whole weekend, with his poor work ethic and abysmal citation habits and annoyingly attractive smile. This is going to be a catastrophe. “I planned to leave after work on Friday.”

Sasha shakes her head. “The events start on Friday. You’ll have to go up Thursday night.” Christ. That means _three_ days with uninterrupted exposure to Martin. He doesn’t like the way his heart pounds at the thought.

“Don’t look so disappointed about missing a workday, Boss. It might be good to get out of town if Prentiss is running around London.” That’s certainly a plus. However, Jon is still apprehensive about the prospect of pretending to date a colleague, especially one who reports to him. It has nothing to do with Martin at all on a personal level. It _doesn’t_. He very firmly reminds himself that he does not like Martin any more or any differently than the rest of his coworkers.

Jon clears his throat and doesn’t look at Martin. “Right. I’ll let Elias know that we’re both taking a personal day on Friday. Also, I suppose we should talk about logistics at some point.”

“Text me the details?” Martin suggests, and Jon nods before making his escape from the conversation. After Jon shuts himself in his office, he leans against the door and wonders how the hell he got into a scenario that depends on him playacting a romance with Martin Blackwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **s1 Jon:** I had a crush on a boy and didn’t know how to deal with it so I wrote him a letter that just said “get out of my school”.
> 
> This fic is mostly finished, but I will be spacing out updates a bit so I can make tweaks to each chapter and write the last stubborn scene.


	2. There Was Only One Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos and comments! I was blown away by the number of responses that I got to the first chapter :)
> 
> EDIT: Now with [art](https://moetshander.tumblr.com/post/628189443750248448) by [moetshander](https://moetshander.tumblr.com/)! Thank you so much!!

Meeting Jon at the train station on Thursday night is strange. It’s the first time that Martin has interacted with Jon outside of work, and the cognitive dissonance is just pouring fuel on the fire of his already heightened nerves. Martin wipes a hand on his trousers and waves awkwardly at where Jon is standing near one of the columns. He gets a single nod in return. Martin wheels his small bag over and stops a few steps away, unsure how close he should stand to someone who isn’t really his boyfriend. They need to talk about boundaries before they get to the hotel. When the train arrives, they take their seats and Jon removes a slim volume from his overstuffed messenger bag. It looks like a local history of the area around the Hearth, and he flips through for a few seconds until he finds the start of a chapter.

Sitting together on the train with their suitcases side by side suddenly makes the whole scenario feel terrifyingly real. “We should probably get our stories straight.”

He expects that Jon will be too focused on the investigation to care about appearances at the hotel, so he is surprised when Jon closes the book. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Martin echoes.

“If the source of the disappearances is mundane – which is significantly more likely than any supernatural cause – then I’d rather the culprit didn’t see us coming. Some subterfuge to blend in with the other guests might benefit us.”

Huh. Maybe Jon is anticipating more deception than Martin had thought. After agreeing to this façade, Martin had given himself a stern talking-to about keeping his expectations reasonable. He is not actually on holiday with Jon. He is not actually going to get to play out his daydreams in real life. He is here to help with the investigation. “That’s a good point. I think we should stick to the truth as much as possible, so we don’t get tripped up.”

Jon nods. “Yes, that’s probably for the best. The one big adjustment for our fiction – aside from the obvious change in our relationship – is that you stayed in the Libraries when I was moved to the Archives.”

Ouch. He knows that Jon doesn’t like him, but that’s brutal. “Why?”

Jon gives him a sideways look. “I couldn’t continue to date you if I was your supervisor. Once I was promoted, we would have to work in different departments.” Oh. Martin’s breath catches as he briefly imagines the world that Jon has suggested, where they go into the Institute together every morning and take their lunches at the same time and pop over to each other’s desks to say hello. “It should be easy enough to lie about,” Jon continues, “since you worked in the Libraries for – how long were you there?”

“Eleven years. Oh, and speaking of our history,” Martin adds, as if he hasn’t been thinking about their fake backstory for three full days, “I was thinking that we could keep our first meeting the same. I did end up getting ahold of the book.”

“What book?”

Martin flushes. It had been a big deal to him at the time, and Jon doesn’t even remember. “The occult history by Zellers? I heard that you got written up for something you said to Greg that day.” He had maybe fallen a little bit in love when the handsome, brand-new researcher had started a petty feud with Greg Dawson from Artefact Storage. It had been a short-lived war, because Greg quit four months later to take a better job, but Martin hadn’t forgotten their opening volleys.

Jon’s face twists in disgust. “Ah, him. Yes, I remember that.”

“We could say that I took you out for a drink later to thank you, and then after some months as friends, we started going on dates. How does that sound?”

* * *

Jon remembers the encounter that Martin is talking about, but frankly, he hadn’t connected that Martin was there. At the time, Jon had only been with the Magnus Institute for a few weeks, so every day was a parade of unfamiliar names and faces as he tried to remember who he’d been introduced to. Jon had been sat in the quiet study area that day with a few books and his laptop, working on one of his first research assignments. It was slow going, but he had been making progress until someone shoved open the creaky door, breaking the silence. Jon looked up automatically, as did the study room’s only other occupant, a man sitting a few tables down who was facing away from him.

The man at the table stood up and waved down the newcomer, though he waited until his coworker was much closer before speaking. “Greg, while you’re here, I had a question about Occult Figures of the 1820s by Zellers. Do you mind if I borrow it?”

Greg shook his head. “I’m working on something for Artefact Storage right now. That takes priority over statements in the Libraries.” Jon hadn’t been at the Institute long, but the outlines of interdepartmental politics had already begun to make themselves clear. Uninterested in getting involved, Jon returned his gaze to the book in front of him.

“You’ve had it checked out of the Libraries for three months,” the other man replied flatly, unimpressed. “It won’t take long for me to find what I’m looking for.”

“I need it. The _practical_ researchers deal with real supernatural threats. We just accessioned a nineteenth-century pair of bifocals that sound like something Zellers studied. I can’t afford to be caught unprepared if you take the book.”

“Look, I can photocopy the chapters that I need and bring it back before lunch. It’ll be a compromise. I just –”

“ _I_ have it checked out,” Greg interrupted, raising his voice. “Patience is a virtue.”

Jon snapped the book shut. “So is common courtesy, but that seems to be in short supply around here.” That stopped the argument, and Greg had turned his disdainful expression on Jon. “This is a quiet study area. Your colleague, at least, has been attempting to keep his voice down.”

Greg snorted. “What’s your problem?”

“I should think that was obvious.”

“Then go somewhere else. You have a desk, don’t you?”

For Christ’s sake. Jon stood up, careful not to show any reaction. “Now that you mention it,” he’d responded, keeping his voice steady to hide the spiteful idea that sprang to mind, “I _can_ think of a place I’d rather be.” He had packed up his research materials without another word and marched directly to the Libraries, whereupon he checked out every single book on the shelves by or about Zellers. Then, Jon strode back to the study room with an armful of books and dumped them on the other man’s table. Greg, apparently, had decided to take his melodrama elsewhere.

“Bargain with him for the book,” Jon had ordered. “If he wants to read about Zellers, he’ll have to go through you.” Was it petty? Yes. Did Jon regret it? Absolutely not.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190018741@N03/50298985513/in/dateposted-public/)

_Art by[moetshander](https://moetshander.tumblr.com/)_

The reason Jon recalls the event is that he’d gotten called into HR the next day for “unprofessional conduct” towards one Gregory Dawson and he had been treated to a long lecture about how to behave in a professional setting. It hadn’t helped Jon’s case that he wasn’t sorry about what he’d done. In the following weeks, there had been other confrontations with Greg, and Jon wished that he’d thought of something worse than just borrowing the books that Greg wanted and passing them to someone else. Truthfully, he’d never put together that the other person in the study room was Martin. He had been exhausted and irritated at the time, so he’d focused on the problem – namely, Greg – rather than everything else. His memory of the other man, whose name he’d never gotten and whose face he’d only seen for a moment, had grown hazy with time.

The first clear memories Jon has of Martin are from about six months into his employment. Jon moved into a new apartment after his lease expired, which changed the timing of his morning schedule. Now he made it into work about fifteen minutes earlier than before, and the first thing Jon always did was pour himself tea in the staff’s breakroom. Every day, the same tall man with soft-looking hair and muted jumpers was in there chatting with one or more of their coworkers. One morning, Jon had entered the breakroom to find a shattered coffee mug on the floor and the tall, attractive man wrapping bandages around Rosie’s hand.

“It’s just such a noticeable injury,” the receptionist groused. “I’m going to be fielding questions about the bandages all day from nosy researchers.”

The man snipped the dressing and tucked the end in. “Tell them you got tired of visitors calling you ‘sweetheart’. Maybe they’ll take the hint.”

Rosie laughed. “No one would believe I socked a guest.”

“Stick to your story and refuse to answer follow-up questions. Start talking about something else. The gossip mill will do the rest for you.”

“What secrets are _you_ hiding, Martin?” she teased.

Martin shook his head ruefully. “I’m an open book.”

“There must be something.”

“I meant what I said. How does your hand feel now?” The conversation moved on after that, but Jon was struck by the fact that Martin had done exactly what he instructed Rosie to do. He had deflected her question and changed the subject. She hadn’t even noticed. Jon wanted to comment on it, but it was none of his business. When Martin noticed Jon in the doorway, he’d blushed – presumably at having an audience to his suggestion – and something in Jon’s chest had caught and fluttered. Maybe Jon _wanted_ Martin to be his business.

In the following days, Jon’s curiosity had gotten the better of him. He found himself lingering longer than necessary by the kettle in the mornings, listening to Martin. It wasn’t eavesdropping, he’d told himself. Jon was in a common space and it wasn’t his fault that Martin liked to socialize with the other staff members. Most of what he overheard concerned their coworkers’ families, hobbies, and work complaints, but occasionally there were snippets about Martin’s life. He seemed to like books and the dozens of house plants that he kept, and he loved talking about the good dogs in his neighborhood. Jon convinced himself that there was nothing odd about being idly interested in the people he worked with, even if he was disinclined to interact with them himself.

Unfortunately, two months after he began noticing his charming coworker and developed an inexplicable attachment to him, Jon finally realized that Breakroom Martin was the same Martin whose citations Jon had been furiously correcting over the past eight months. He had been hideously disappointed when he put it together. The strength of his distress actually bordered on embarrassing, given that Jon had never spoken to Martin Blackwood in person before. Jon couldn’t stand having a one-sided, weird sense of camaraderie (because there must be a more accurate and less juvenile word than _crush_ ) about someone who didn’t care about their work. Sloppy reports just caused more trouble for everyone else. It was inconsiderate and unprofessional, two things that Jon never would have associated with Breakroom Martin. It was disheartening. What kind of graduate program had let Martin get away without learning basic citation standards, anyway?

“You could always teach him how to do it properly,” Tim would point out whenever Jon complained to him over drinks, which always shut Jon right up. If Jon wasn’t annoyed with Martin about his research habits, he might be tempted to act on those pesky feelings he’d had at the beginning, which would only end badly. Jon’s ability to navigate the intricacies of romance has historically been very poor, so he has committed himself to not liking Martin Blackwood, heart palpitations and fuzzy feelings be damned.

* * *

Jon agrees to the story about their first meeting, so Martin braces himself to tackle the next important topic. He isn’t sure whether he should look directly at Jon or avoid eye contact, so he ends up focusing on a point over Jon’s shoulder as he says, “There are certain expectations about how couples interact. We need to set down rules about physical contact so that neither of us are uncomfortable.” He congratulates himself for sounding mostly neutral.

“Yes.” Jon frowns. “Ultimately, it’s no one else’s business what our relationship looks like, but it’s something we have to consider if we want to fit in with the other couples.” Well, judging by the sharp jolt of Martin’s heartbeat at “ _our relationship_ ” and “ _other couples_ ”, he’s going to die of heart failure by the end of the weekend, so it might not matter. “I suggest we keep displays of affection to a minimum. People in long-term, committed relationships don’t carry on in public all the time.”

“Right, of course.” It makes sense, but Martin still has to shove down his disappointment. No kissing, then, no matter how tempted he is to taste one of Jon’s rare smiles. No hugging, either, even though Martin can’t help but think that Jon would fit perfectly in his arms. “We can probably manage with just hand-holding and other casual touches.”

Although Jon hesitates, he eventually says, “That’s fine, as long as we don’t overdo it.”

Martin’s heart soars at the confirmation, but he needs to be sure about their boundaries. “Jon, will you tell me if you’re uncomfortable with something?”

“Yes. And likewise for you?” Martin nods. “Good. Let’s change the subject.”

“Sure.” Martin might overheat if they start listing out all the ways that he’s allowed to touch Jon. “Tell me about things you like. If people ask about you, I should have some answers.” It’s not the only reason that he wants to know about Jon’s hobbies, but Martin can multitask.

Jon blinks, but accepts the topic. “Reading, I suppose. I enjoy music, though I expect that’s something most people like. I’d like to have another cat someday, but I’m too busy right now to care for one.”

The image of Jon Sims cuddling with a fluffy cat is almost too much for Martin’s heart. He doesn’t manage to suppress his fond smile. “Those are all good. I like cats too, and I like poetry, both reading and writing it. I started growing some succulents about a month ago. I’m not sure they’re getting enough sun, but maybe they’ll do better in the summer. I have a horde of spider plants that are growing out of control.” The conversation drops off when he finishes speaking and Martin realizes that he’s going to have to drive the discussion. “What kind of foods do you like?”

* * *

The train arrives late in the evening at the town closest to the Hearth. The night sky is clear when they disembark, but as Jon drives their rental up the rocky path to the hotel, a thick mist rolls in from the ocean. It doesn’t look quite right. It moves faster than he remembers from his childhood by the sea. His memory keeps tugging uncomfortably at Naomi Herne’s description of the foggy cemetery that she’d fled through after her fiancé’s funeral. He shivers. Realistically, it’s more likely that the fog is natural, but Jon is still going to keep an eye out for open graves.

The hotel lobby is all but empty when he and Martin enter. The sleepy clerk at the concierge desk checks them in and holds out a booklet for the retreat along with their room keys. “The first event is at nine,” she informs them. “The hosts will be introducing the program over breakfast.” Martin takes the offered items and thanks her before they head to the elevator.

Jon is exhausted and just wants to pass out, so it takes him a moment to work out why Martin has stopped dead in the doorway to their room. “Why are you – oh.” The event that they’d been forced into is exclusively for couples, so naturally, the coordinators would have only reserved rooms with one bed. It makes sense, but it still catches Jon completely off guard. He had been in such a rush on Tuesday to make reservations before the hotel booked up that it just hadn’t clicked in his head that “one room” for a relationship counselling retreat would probably mean “one bed”.

“Yep,” Martin replies, his voice higher than usual. “So, uh, this is happening.”

Jon scowls and tries to ignore the uncomfortable tension in the air now. It’s not going to get any better. “Well, it looks like we don’t have another choice.” Jon isn’t planning to sleep on the floor, and he wouldn’t expect Martin to either. “We’re both adults, and I’m sure we’re both capable of being professional.”

“Of course,” Martin agrees, finally stepping into their room.

It has been a long time since Jon shared a bed with anyone, and he has plenty of anxieties tied up in the idea. Shared beds often mean expectations that he is unable or unwilling to meet. His lack of attraction aside, Jon’s opinion of sex varies from day to day, and sleeping beside someone also implies a level of trust and familiarity that feels deeply, frighteningly intimate. He has had other dates since Georgie in uni, but none of them had clicked with him enough for Jon to spend the night at their apartments. Martin will be the first person in years that he has slept beside.

Jon swallows around the knot in his throat and closes the door behind him, calculating how quickly he can get through his nightly routine and use sleep as an excuse to avoid further interaction.

* * *

Martin’s pulse hasn’t calmed down since he and Jon arrived at their room. He’s thrilled and terrified in equal measure, and it feels like the butterflies in his stomach are going to burst through his skin. God, he hadn’t even considered the sleeping arrangements when he’d agreed to this pretense. He’d just skimmed over it in his head, knowing that they would be spending every minute of the trip on the investigation. However, in a few minutes, Jon is going to be under the covers next to Martin, only inches away. He wonders if Jon looks softer with his expression smoothed out in slumber.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this. Jon isn’t really his boyfriend, and it’s wrong for Martin to yearn for his boss when the man is going to be sleeping beside him. At some point this weekend, Jon is going to figure out that Martin’s feelings for him aren’t platonic, and he doesn’t want Jon to look back at his actions and think that Martin was making unwanted advances. He will just have to keep as much distance between them as possible and hope that he doesn’t dream of Jon, because he can’t exactly deal with the fallout of that in the same bed as him. Martin has a hunch that he’s going to be spending a long time showering in the mornings.

After Jon finishes in the bathroom, Martin brushes his teeth and changes into pajamas. He approaches the bed with trepidation, noticing that Jon has already chosen the side nearest the window. Martin carefully slips in beside Jon, who is on his side facing the wall. He gets comfortable under the sheets and then switches off the bedside lamp.

“Goodnight, Jon,” he murmurs, and immediately regrets it. Jon is either sleeping already – which is entirely possible, since he always looks like he’s two steps away from keeling over – or he’s pretending to be.

Martin’s words hang in the air unanswered, and he falls asleep wishing that his feelings for Jon weren’t so futile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to everyone who has commented so far. I’d love to hear what you thought of this chapter!
> 
> EDIT: Here are some bonus Jons by [moetshander](https://moetshander.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/190018741@N03/50299857797/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 


	3. Just for Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know nothing about relationship counselling.

Jon wakes up with his nose buried in something soft. His mind is still hazy with sleep, so he presses closer and rubs his face into the fluffy texture. Gradually, he realizes that he’s huddled up to a source of warmth in front of him, with one arm wrapped around the middle. Without questioning it too deeply, like the logic of a dream, he brushes his lips against the back of a neck before returning to revel in the thick hair that smells like artificial pears. _I knew it would be soft_ , he thinks, and then he jolts back suddenly when the thought trickles down to his conscious mind from his sleep-addled brain. Jon scrambles out of bed and retreats to the far wall, heart pounding wildly for no good reason as he stares at Martin, who’s still asleep.

As he waits for his pulse to settle, Jon rationalizes his actions. Firstly, he hadn’t known while he was asleep that it was Martin he’d curled up with. Secondly, it’s been a while since he shared his sleeping space with someone, so this isn’t connected to Martin specifically. Thirdly, the hotel room had been chilly when they arrived last night, so it only makes sense that he would try to soak up any heat he could find. The position he had woken up in doesn’t mean anything.

Jon broods in the shower, which he’d been too tired to take last night, and berates himself for being so desperate for human contact that he would seek it from the first available candidate.

* * *

Martin wakes up to the muffled, tinny sounds of audio being channeled through cheap headphones. He peers around the room and finds Jon seated at the small desk with his hair still wet from the shower. From what Martin can see, Jon is poring over the video files from Ghost Hunt UK’s cameras again. Sasha had requested any footage that Georgina Barker thought might be helpful, and the Institute had received all of their footage on the condition that only the staff could view it before the final product was published online.

“Did you get breakfast yet?” Martin asks as he swings his feet out of bed. It had been a nice change to sleep in a proper bed after spending thirteen days on the cramped cot in the Archives. Last night he’d only woken up twice to check for worms, instead of the usual five or six times. He must have been more exhausted than he thought.

“No,” Jon replies without removing the headphones.

“Let’s head down before they stop serving it.”

Jon seems reluctant to tear his eyes from the laptop. “Fine.”

Jon locks the room behind them and then takes Martin’s hand with a forced casualness that is painfully obvious. He pauses, as if waiting for Martin to protest, but Martin holds his breath and doesn’t react because _he_ won’t be the first one to draw back. Although Jon’s skin is a little dry, his hand is warm and comfortable. It’s precisely how Martin imagined it would be. At work, Martin has sometimes found himself staring at Jon’s hands when he tucks a lock of curly hair behind his ear or sips the tea that Martin has prepared for him or reaches for a box of files on a tall shelf. Now, Martin is struck with the urge to run his lips over Jon’s palm or lay kisses on the inside of his wrist. He wants to look Jon in the eyes as he kisses each fingertip and watch Jon’s expression when he realizes that he is cared for. Martin wants to indulge in every expression of affection that he has imagined for years.

He restrains himself from performing any romantic gestures, but he gets stuck in a loop thinking about them until they reach the buffet line on the ground floor. Regrettably, Jon drops his hand to reach for a plate and Martin can’t think of a good reason to touch him again as they put together their breakfasts and sit down at the end of a table. “What’s our approach?” Martin inquires between bites of toast.

“We track down whoever abducted the guests to find out where Ms. King has been taken.”

Obviously. “Yes, but how?”

Jon finishes peeling his orange and pulls off a slice. “I want to interrogate the staff. If they’ve had guests going missing for twenty years, they must have some suspicions about who’s behind it.”

That’s a good thought, but Martin has worked at the Magnus Institute long enough to learn that people can be unreliable narrators. There are certainly some statements that are true – which Martin acknowledges, even if Jon won’t – but many of them have contradictions, holes, and blatant falsehoods. He’s followed up on plenty of stories that turned out to be the result of people seeing what they want to see, or making connections where none exist. “They may just point us at whichever boss they like the least. If something like this happened at the Institute and we went to follow up, you might walk away thinking that Elias had abducted and killed someone.”

“Talking to the people who work here is our best lead, though. The guests may or may not know anything more than the stories that Ghost Hunt UK and What the Ghost were here for.”

Martin frowns. “Hang on. If you don’t think the disappearances are supernatural, then what are we doing here?”

Jon pushes up his glasses primly. “I don’t have enough evidence to confirm whether they’re mundane or paranormal. We can’t exactly track a ghost or disembodied voice, so I’ve decided to assume it was someone imitating a ghost story until we learn more. I thought the staff might know more of the local folklore or know who might be interested in the paranormal, which could direct our search.”

Before Martin can reply to that, there’s a harsh squeal from the overhead speakers. He looks around and locks onto a few people in professional clothing at the other end of the dining area, one of whom is holding a microphone. A cheerful, echoey voice comes through the speakers: “May I have your attention please?”

* * *

What follows is an annoyingly upbeat introduction to the relationship counselling retreat. Jon fidgets with his orange peels, tearing them into smaller and smaller pieces so he doesn’t lose his mind during the speech. Martin starts up a conversation with the couple a few feet down the table, which Jon thinks is a sign that he’s losing interest, but the conversation quickly moves away from banal pleasantries. “Oh, Jon and I got in late last night,” Martin tells them. “It was spooky with the fog, very fitting. Have you heard about the creepy voices?” In response, one of the women starts sharing a few stories that she’s heard. When they’re done chatting, Martin turns to another couple at the table behind them, who are looking equally bored by the speech, and he launches into the same conversation.

Jon is suddenly reminded that Martin is good at getting people to open up. They tell him about their kids and their pets and whatever new pastime they’ve taken up lately. He tells himself that it’s an infuriating habit when Martin is supposed to be cataloguing statements or writing up reports, because everything takes twice as long when he’s chatting away, but that aptitude is part of what had caught Jon’s attention during those first few months, and it might be useful here. People are more likely to share information with someone amiable. By contrast, Jon’s attempts to get information are usually more belligerent.

Martin is also, he remembers, a practiced liar. It’s not something that Jon has had cause to reflect on for years, but that first conversation he’d overheard in the breakroom proved that there was more to Martin Blackwood than meets the eye. Jon had lost sight of that at some point, probably around the time that he decided not to pursue his curiosity about Martin anymore. Watching Martin capture the attention of the couple behind them leaves Jon deeply conflicted. It’s good that Martin isn’t slacking off. It’s good that his conversations might yield leads for the case _._ However, Jon dislikes the tender feelings that this display of competence inspires in him. He wants to watch the spark in Martin’s eyes as he coaxes folklore out of unsuspecting guests. He wants to feel the shape of Martin’s dimples as he spins a friendly but false backstory for them and he wants to run his fingers along the shells of Martin’s ears as he listens to new accounts of the Hearth that hadn’t been in the Institute’s records.

Suddenly, people are standing up around them and Jon is horrified to realize that he has spent upwards of ten minutes staring at Martin and tuning out everything else. He has no idea what’s going on. “Are we done?”

“Everyone is headed to their first session,” Martin explains.

“We’re not actually here to fix our relationship.”

“True. However, it looks like there are blocks of free time between activities. How much do you want us to blend in?”

Jon squints at him. “You think we should go.”

“I think we should do at least one, to sell our cover, but it’s up to you. Let’s look up our first course.” He flips through the event booklet and tugs out the loose sheet with their individual schedule. Martin’s eyebrows rise. “Well, there are some fun ones later in the weekend, but maybe we should pass on this one.”

Jon peers over to see that he and Martin are due at a group session titled “ _Effectively Handling Relationship Challenges_.” Ugh. “Yes, I think we’d better skip it.”

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Jon looks up. Everyone else has trickled out of the room except for one woman who had been standing with the other event coordinators. Her smile is wide, but the way she watches them is anything but welcoming. Unease sweeps over Jon like a tide. Without thinking, he clicks on the tape recorder in his pocket.

“There’s no problem,” Martin assures her.

“It sounds like you were thinking of missing one of the activities that will help get your relationship back on track,” she chirps. She hasn’t blinked yet. Maybe that’s what seems off about her. “I know it can be intimidating to tackle your problems head-on, but everyone will be sharing their struggles with the class. As a professional therapist, I’ll be leading the discussion and offering suggestions for improving your communication.”

Refusing to attend will get them noticed. Feeling trapped, Jon glances over at Martin and nods. Martin reaches for Jon’s hand and answers for them: “Why don’t you show us the way?”

The counselor leads them to a small room with tables pushed up against the walls. In the center is a circle of chairs, a few of which are already occupied. Jon and Martin find two seats together away from their classmates. Martin doesn’t release his hand.

Once they’re settled, Martin leans over to whisper to him. “What are we going to say for our relationship challenges?”

“We’ll make something up and then play off each other.” It won’t be hard for Jon to invent reasons to dislike him. He does it all the time to keep his weakness for Martin at bay.

Their conversation is interrupted when the counselor takes the chair directly next to Martin. Her gaze is too sharp for Jon’s comfort. He recalls Martin’s tactics from earlier and tries for a distraction. “How was the trip up here?” he asks her, hoping Martin will take over the questioning. “We drove through the fog last night.”

“Oh, I’ve been here about a week already,” she tells them.

Thankfully, Martin follows Jon’s cue. “I didn’t realize so much preparation went into this event, Dr…?”

“Dr. Madeline Woodgrove. And no, I have everything prepared beforehand. I wasn’t here for that.” As if for emphasis, she flips open a legal pad that is already covered in handwritten notes for the session. “I’m also a writer on the side, and the isolation out here is ideal for getting words on the page.”

Martin, unsurprisingly, perks up at that. “What do you write?”

“I’ve been working on some crime fiction with supernatural elements. So far it’s several vignettes that are based on true stories, but I hope to pull them together into something bigger.” While Woodgrove is focused on Martin, Jon rolls his eyes. He doesn’t care for true crime as a genre, never has, and adding demons to spice up a story is – well, Jon gets enough of that at work.

“You know,” Martin says casually, “I heard that there were ghost hunters filming here last week. Did you see them at all?”

Woodgrove’s smile stretches, but it’s no longer a happy thing. It looks more like she’s baring her teeth. Are teeth supposed to be that sharp? “Yes, I bumped into them. They were filming a YouTube episode about the strange events at the Hearth.” She snaps her pencil in half, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ve been coming up here for years, first with my parents on holiday when I was a child and then later myself to track down some answers. Three days of filming isn’t enough to solve the mystery of what’s going on here. But because the YouTubers don’t have to spend months going through publishing houses, they’re going to post their research before I can pitch my book.”

Martin gives her a considering look. “You know, a book might reach a different audience than a podcast or YouTube channel. There’s still room for you to write about the Hearth.”

“Not if they somehow manage to solve the fires and disappearances before I do.” Something wild comes into her gaze then, and just for a moment, the length of a heartbeat, Jon would swear that her eyes aren’t human. “It has to be a mystery. I don’t know who gave them permission to film here, but they _shouldn’t have come_.”

Martin’s grip tightens on his hand, and Jon squeezes back. He doesn’t need Martin to tell him that Woodgrove has just jumped to the top of their suspect list. She has already confessed to knowing the area well, she admitted to being here last week, and she has a motive to harm the ghost hunters. She could make Melanie King’s disappearance seem like the other strange cases in the area. Or, worse, perhaps her supernatural research had borne fruit and she fed Melanie King to the very monsters that they both were searching for.

* * *

After a long, tense moment, Woodgrove recovers from her burst of irritation, visibly pulling herself together with a few deep breaths and a quick brush of her hand to move a few loose strands of hair out of her face. She checks her watch and gives them another false smile. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this discussion later. It’s time to start our session.”

She introduces herself to the group and opens the discussion. “We’ll start by going around and each person will identify what they think is the biggest problem in their relationship.” Woodgrove turns to face Martin, her gaze pinning him like a butterfly to a board. “Why don’t you go first?”

Oh, fuck. Martin wishes he knew more about this fake relationship. “All Jon talks about is work,” he starts, which is mostly true. That doesn’t seem like enough to warrant relationship counselling, though, so he decides to add more, keeping in mind that the best lies have some truth in them. “He keeps taking on extra hours for his new position and it feels like he doesn’t have time for anything else. I’ve been working on the jealousy thing, honest, but it bothers me that he spends more time with our other coworkers than me. I feel like I’m not a priority.” After that, Martin physically bites down on his tongue to keep from continuing. That’s enough detail, and he doesn’t want Jon to start examining his words too closely, because every single one of them was true. He shouldn’t actually be treating this like a therapy session. This is just part of their disguise.

In response to Martin’s speech, Jon’s face goes terrifyingly blank. “On the contrary,” he says coolly, “I think our largest hurdle is that you don’t take _enough_ care with your work. I’ve spent years correcting your references because we are part of an academic institution. Our research will be viewed by other scholars. It’s rude to leave things incomplete or wrong, because the next person looking to study the report will waste time duplicating work that you’ve already done. The fact that you are so cavalier about our responsibilities as researchers – something I feel very strongly about – makes me doubt that we could ever properly understand each other.”

Is that true? Is that why Jon dislikes him, because he thinks that Martin doesn’t care about his job? Martin wonders if there are other gaps in his knowledge that their colleagues have noticed, things Martin never learned because he doesn’t hold a master’s degree in parapsychology or any degree at all. It’s not like he can ask them. Even so, the disparity can’t be as great as Jon is suggesting, can it? At this point, Martin has had more practical experience with the Institute’s inner workings than most of the current researchers. That must count for something.

“Well, it sounds like you have a lot to talk about,” Woodgrove comments. “Martin, since you’re worried that Jon is too focused on his work, why don’t you come up with some activities that you can do together? See if you two can compromise about what number of hours is reasonable for Jon to work, and then make plans that don’t involve your job. Sign up for a pottery class, go see a play, or even plan projects around the house. Jon, you mentioned being concerned that the two of you can’t understand each other, but think about how long you’ve been together and managed to emotionally connect with one another. I’m sure you can think of plenty of moments where Martin showed that he understands you. How long have you been together?”

“Four years,” Jon replies at the same time that Martin says, “three years.”

Martin winces internally. So much for their cover. “We’ve known each other for four years and were friends for part of that. I don’t include the months of flirting before our first official date.”

“Which of you made the first move?”

“He did,” Martin lies just as Jon answers, “Martin.”

Could Jon shut up for a _second?_ “I thought Jon had asked me out on a date, but he thought it was platonic. When we realized the miscommunication, I asked him out for real.”

Woodgrove narrows her eyes at them, although other than that, she never loses her pasted-on, professional neutrality. “Is that so?”

Jon looks like he’s about to dig them further into this hole, so Martin squeezes his hand in warning. “It was a confusing time, but we’ve moved past it,” he explains to everyone in the circle. Then, he deliberately looks at the woman to Jon’s left, which prompts her to start gushing about the challenges in her relationship, and the conversation shifts.

* * *

Jon needs to erase that train wreck of a session from his memory, so he and Martin head back to their room. He plans to bury himself in research to make up for the fact that they just spent three hours listening to strangers whine about their partners. He and Martin had needed to provide more details about their supposed romance, and it rapidly became obvious that they weren’t on the same page about anything. Jon rubs his eyes to hold off an oncoming headache and then unfolds one of the older statements again.

“We should have practiced our story,” Martin insists, pacing in front of the bed with nervous energy. “If we go to another session, even the guests will start to notice the inconsistencies.”

“It’s a bit late to change our lies now.”

“I know. We could write up a relationship timeline, but you heard Dr. Woodgrove at the end: we don’t act like we’re comfortable with each other. I don’t think she’s convinced about our history, though god knows what she thinks our motives are for relationship counselling if we’re not actually together.”

“Maybe she suspects we’re out to solve her mystery.”

“I mean, she’d be right. I would ask her more about it, but our cover is flimsy enough as it is.”

Jon turns a page and starts to tune him out. “Mhm.”

“I know that, by nature, her questions have to be invasive to get to the root of people’s problems, but it felt more targeted when she was speaking to us.”

“True.”

“It felt like a trick, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“There’s no way to get out of it, though. It’s not like we can do anything about being uncomfortable with things like touching or kissing. We’re not going to get better by our next session.”

“Not without practice,” he volleys back unthinkingly, only half following the conversation.

There is silence. Jon looks up to find Martin staring at him, mouth open. “Are you suggesting that we – I can’t tell if you were kidding or serious,” Martin confesses.

Jon’s words finally catch up with him and his heart stutters violently, heat rising in his face. From a certain point of view, it’s _possible_ that his words _may_ have sounded like a proposition, which is mortifying. He struggles to work out where that retort had come from, since he certainly hadn’t meant to suggest anything untoward. Jon doesn’t tend to flirt, generally, because he’s been reliably informed that he’s terrible at it. So, why now? He throws out excuses in his mind: perhaps he’d said it because he’s exhausted, or because he hadn’t been paying attention, or because he’s worried about Georgie and her girlfriend. Those are all genuine concerns and good reasons for his slip. He could easily pin it on any of them.

However, Jon can’t help but notice that Martin doesn’t look repulsed by the idea of kissing him. He reminds himself that there are plenty of reasons why it’s a bad idea. Their relationship is a sham that won’t last beyond the weekend, and there’s no need to go further than a few casual touches to convince everyone else at the Hearth. Plus, Jon has promised himself that he won’t acknowledge the strange infatuation he’d had when he first noticed Martin.

On the other hand, though, Jon is never going to get a better opportunity to kiss him without consequences, and it’s awfully tempting. Perhaps if they do this once when it doesn’t count, Jon can get the memory of his fascination with Martin out of his system. Maybe Martin will be a terrible kisser and he’ll never want to do it again. Slowly, deliberately, he says, “I don’t tend to joke about things like that.”

Martin’s eyes go wide. “Oh,” he replies, his voice a step higher than normal. “Me neither.”

“Good.” _Good?_ What kind of response is that? “Do you want to…?” Jon abandons the chair and steps forward cautiously. Martin mirrors him until they’re only a breath apart in the center of the room. At this distance, the height difference between them nearly overwhelms him. Martin could easily pick him up right now and Jon is feeling reckless enough that he might let him. He reaches up to brush a hand through Martin’s hair, which isn’t necessary for their practice (which is _kissing_ practice, good god) but is profoundly satisfying. Martin cups his face with one hand and Jon’s eyes fall closed, basking in the warmth while Martin rubs a thumb over his cheekbone. For a few long moments, Jon waits as the anticipation builds in the silence of their shared room. Just when he begins to wonder who’s expected to move first, Martin finally covers Jon’s mouth with his.

To say that Jon melts is embarrassing but accurate. He wraps his arms around Martin’s neck to pull him closer and to keep his own balance. Martin goes willingly, gasping into his mouth. He tastes like the lemon ginger tea he’d had with breakfast this morning. Martin hadn’t taken sugar, Jon remembers, but that doesn’t make the kiss any less sweet. Martin wraps one arm around Jon’s back to make it a proper embrace and his other hand drifts up into Jon’s hair, clutching him close. Jon knees go weak and he falls apart under soft, dizzying lips. In fact, Jon is only barely standing under his own power when Martin bites his lip just how he likes, and then any hope that Martin would be a bad kisser goes up in smoke.

* * *

Martin had feared that kissing Jon could never live up to his imagination, but Jon’s immediate response to him quickly dispels that worry. He still can’t believe this is happening, even as he nips at Jon’s mouth again and Jon tightens his grip on him. The image of Jon with his eyes closed, waiting to be kissed, is one that Martin will take to his grave. “Trust” looks breathtakingly attractive on him, and it had taken Martin a few beats to recover enough to move. It was worth the effort, though, because kissing Jon is intense and overwhelming in all the best ways. If Jon does this much just for practice, Martin can’t imagine how he kisses someone he cares about. For his part, Martin is devoting his full attention to the experience, aware that every moment could be the last. He gives himself completely over to the act of persuading Jon that they’re the only two people in the world.

When Jon finally pulls away after several minutes, he runs a hand down Martin’s cheek and Martin lets out an involuntary “ _oh_ ” that can’t be mistaken for anything but unfiltered longing. He flushes and immediately covers his mouth, as if that will help. It feels like his chest has been cracked open for Jon to see his heart, and it’s humiliating to be caught out like this when they were only practicing for their disguise. There’s no way that Jon doesn’t know what Martin wants from him now, because Martin had poured four years of unrequited feelings into those kisses and his heart is full enough to burst. He would do anything Jon asked at this moment without hesitation.

Jon stares at him as they both pant for breath. His face is flushed with exertion and his lips are bitten pink, both of which are due to Martin’s actions. Then, Jon runs a hand through his curls to smooth them down where Martin had mussed them and the whole tableau is abruptly too much for Martin. He’s going to say something unforgivably sentimental if he doesn’t get out of here right now. “We should – uh, the investigation, that’s what we were – I’ll wait outside.” Martin tries not to make it obvious that he’s fleeing, but given what just happened, it’s probably a wasted effort. If he were a braver man, he wouldn’t need to run, and they could handle the aftermath of this situation like adults.

Actually, if he were a braver man, he would’ve probably suggested further, more rigorous practice, because Jon just kissed the _hell_ out of him and Martin can’t think of anything he wants more than Jon’s lips back on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented so far!! Every single response makes me smile :)
> 
> If you want to read my other tma fics, click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeridianGrimm/works?fandom_id=11812534).
> 
>  **Next time:** Jon and Martin find some new suspects and take another class. Jon’s survival instincts fail to make an appearance.


	4. Through the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed by the number of you who are invested in the mystery as well as the romance. You’re all the best!

After bolting from their room, Martin idles awkwardly in front of the door. He looks down at his jumper as he smooths out the wrinkles, hoping to avoid eye contact with anyone who passes. When Jon emerges from the room a few minutes later, he looks completely collected, which is grossly unfair. He has a notebook tucked under one arm and a tape recorder in the other. “We should start with the concierge desk,” Jon states, sealing an unspoken agreement not to mention what had just happened. Martin is going to need the next hour to process it, let alone talk about it.

The man at the front desk doesn’t want to help them. Despite speaking politely and never losing his customer service smile, he makes it clear that he has no comment about Melanie King’s disappearance or the fire that had occurred the same night.

“We’re not reporters,” Martin tells him.

“Nevertheless, I think you would be better off speaking to my manager than to me.”

“Where can we find him?” Jon asks.

“Mr. Isle won’t be in until later this afternoon. Can I recommend some activities around the hotel for while you wait?”

Jon narrows his eyes. “No. We’ll wander around ourselves.”

The hosts and servers at the hotel restaurant don’t have anything to say about the disappearances either. They are an anxious, tight-lipped bunch, and a few of them won’t even meet Martin’s gaze once they hear what he and Jon are asking about. From what Martin can guess, the staff are just keeping their heads down and hoping that they’re not next. Everyone they speak to says that he and Jon will have to talk to Arcus Isle.

“They’ve been specifically instructed not to say anything,” Jon grumbles over lunch.

“Everyone is scared.” Even the ones who don’t believe in monsters can’t deny that people are vanishing and dying. Martin understands the desperation to take whatever job is open, and he can’t say that he would have turned down a job at an active paranormal site when he was seventeen. He had needed any source of income he could get, and he’d ended up researching the supernatural for a living.

“If no one will talk about it, we need other options. Any ideas?”

Martin considers. “We could start by retracing what the ghost hunters were doing. You’ve been looking through the footage, right?”

Jon nods. “They filmed at most of the spots where they were anticipating activity. We can start outside.”

The gardens are empty apart from a few small buds struggling against the early spring chill. While Jon makes a few murmured comments into a tape recorder, Martin checks Jon’s notes about the footage. The paranormal investigators had apparently set up cameras and microphones here to follow up on two separate reports. The first was the account of a young man who’d been reading on one of the benches when he heard a voice calling for help. “ _Please, I’ve been alone for so long_ ,” the unseen woman had said. “ _I just need to know that someone else is out there. Is there anyone around?”_ He had checked behind every tree and hedge for her, but his search had turned up nothing. Concerned, the man had asked around about a missing woman and the story had ended up in the local newspaper as a ghost sighting, even though he insisted that he hadn’t _seen_ anything.

The second report was made a few years later by another guest who’d been out in the gardens, this time after dark. She and her boyfriend had both been a little drunk and had been trying to call on the ghostly voice from the stories when an eerie creature emerged from the woods, something that was like a wolf, but wrong. It was bigger than any wolf she’d seen at the zoo, and when she made eye contact with it, the thing shifted back onto its hind paws until it was standing like a human. The beast had charged them almost immediately and they’d gotten separated during the chase. The woman survived, but her boyfriend hadn’t made it.

At the center of the garden path, Martin and Jon spend a few minutes searching for any signs that Melanie King had returned here after her disappearance from the hotel room. Although Martin finds some divots in the ground from where the tripods had stood, there’s nothing around that jumps out at him as a clue. The whole time they’re on the path, he keeps one eye on the woods and both ears open for a ghostly monologue, but neither phenomenon manifests.

The small ballroom inside the hotel is being cleared for a couples’ dance class, so Jon and Martin peek around the door, trying not to draw attention to themselves. “What was here?” Martin asks quietly. It’s possible that Jon had mentioned it earlier, but it’s difficult to think properly when they’re standing so close together and Martin’s traitorous brain keeps tossing up memories of Jon pressed against him.

Jon unknowingly makes Martin’s distraction worse by stepping closer and reaching to flip a few pages in the notebook that Martin is holding. He points to a section detailing the team’s research on other ghosts at the Hearth. “Ten years ago, the town threw a festival to celebrate some important anniversary in its history. A man claims that during the gala held here, he watched a man who was stood in the corner by himself fade into nothing. No one else from that night claims to have seen the ghost, but there have been other reports of figures appearing and then vanishing around the Hearth.”

“Do you believe them?”

Jon snorts. “I’d need more than hearsay before I drew any conclusions. What’s important is that Ghost Hunt UK and What the Ghost believed them.”

For someone who’d made the trek out to the Hearth and has obsessed over the video footage all week, Jon spends a lot of time insisting that he doesn’t believe in the supernatural. “Right,” Martin says. “What’s next, then?” Jon doesn’t reply, and when Martin looks over, Jon is staring up at one of the security cameras. “Jon?”

“Hmm? Oh, we need to see where she went missing. What was the room number?”

“What – no – _what?_ Jon, we’re not breaking into a stranger’s hotel room.” Martin has learned his lesson about breaking and entering. Under no circumstances does he want to repeat what happened at Carlos Vittery’s apartment building. “We have the video from the hallway and that will have to suffice.”

Jon exhales. “Right, of course, I’m not sure what I was thinking. Neither of us can circumvent electronic locks, unless you have an applicable skill set that I don’t know about.” He takes one last glance around the ballroom before stepping back from the doorframe. “We should come back in the evening, since that’s when the ghost hunters were here. For now, the next site on the list is the roof.”

Martin gestures for Jon to lead the way, and he takes them to a gray door tucked into a corner on the top floor. “Eight months ago, there was a fire on the rooftop lounge,” Jon explains before Martin can ask. “Apparently, the blaze was visible from the trails, the beach, and even a passing ship out on the water. Six people were reportedly killed, but the paranormal investigators couldn’t get anyone to tell them who the victims were. I initially wanted to examine the room that caught fire on the night Ms. King vanished, but that entire hallway is cordoned off and the hotel staff were keeping a very close eye on it.”

Martin glances at the padlock on the roof door. He’d follow Jon anywhere, but he’d prefer not to be arrested this weekend. “Jon, I don’t think we’re –”

“Can I help you two?” Martin startles and turns around to see a middle-aged man dressed in the Hearth’s colors.

“We were just leaving,” Martin says firmly.

The man turns a cool, hollow gaze on him, and the temperature seems to drop around them. “The rooftop is closed for the winter. If it’s a view you’re after, I recommend the path to the cliffs. There’s an isolated bench that looks out over the water.”

Martin tugs at Jon’s hand to leave, but Jon doesn’t budge.

* * *

“We’re not here for a tour,” Jon informs the man. “What can you tell us about Melanie King?”

“Ah, Ms. King. It was truly unfortunate to hear that she went missing.” He doesn’t look or sound disappointed. “She seemed so unafraid of whatever she believed lay out in the darkness.”

Jon’s attention sharpens. “You met her?”

“Yes. I was their contact with the Hearth Hotel. With permission from one of the two owners, I spoke with her team about filming on the premises.”

“Why you? Are you the manager we keep getting redirected to?”

He nods. “Arcus Isle, at your service.” He doesn’t offer to shake their hands, not that Jon would want to. Isle’s voice feels empty and wrong. “However, I’m afraid there’s not much more I can tell you about Ms. King and her cohort.”

“Has anyone else been taken from the room she was last seen in?”

“Regrettably, I am not privy to the police investigation and thus cannot confirm whether any of our guests have met with foul play.”

For god’s sake, if Isle is going to stonewall them too, Jon is going to be furious. “In theory, then. Have any of the guests that _in theory_ went missing been checked into that room?”

Isle purses his lips. “I can’t recall offhand, but I’d be happy to look into it for you.”

“Is that so?” Isle doesn’t look like someone who would be happy to do anything.

“Of course.” He smiles, and it is as vacant as the rest of him. Jon feels less reassured by it than he would by a frown. “Anything for the Magnus Institute.”

“It’s much appreciated,” Martin breaks in quickly. Jon snaps a look over at him. Martin had been quiet after telling Isle that they were leaving, and Jon had taken his silence to mean that he preferred to let Jon lead this interrogation. “We take our investigations seriously.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do.”

Jon returns to the original purpose of their conversation: Melanie King. “Did you find anything on the external security cameras? If someone –” or _something_ “– came through her window, they must have shown up on one of them.”

“There was no one on camera in those feeds. I would offer to let you view the footage yourself – strictly for academic purposes, of course – but those discs are currently with the police.”

Damn. “I don’t suppose you know who we could talk to about getting access?”

“I can look into who’s leading the case and have one of my staff bring the details to your room tomorrow. Good day.” Isle nods at them once and then leaves.

Once Isle is around the corner, Martin lets out a shaky breath and slumps against the wall. “We never said we were from the Magnus Institute,” he points out, which sends a chill down Jon’s spine. He hadn’t noticed that. “Neither of us are wearing name badges that could identify us as Institute staff, and we didn’t mention the place by name during our counseling session.”

“That’s extremely suspicious.”

“Yeah. Is it too much to hope that he’s been in to make a statement and saw one of us around?”

Isle doesn’t seem like the Magnus Institute’s usual visitors. “I don’t recognize him. Do you?”

Martin shakes his head. “No, but I’ve been there since I started in the Libraries. I can’t say that I’d remember everyone passing through.”

“We’ll have to look into him too.” Like Woodgrove, there’s something unsettling about Isle.

The next spot where Georgie and her colleagues had filmed, a conference room with another ghost sighting, is blocked by a tall woman with a clipboard. “This room is being used for a class right now,” she informs them.

Beside Jon, Martin perks up. “Is it baking? We’re signed up for that.” This is news to Jon, but the woman checks their names on her list and allows them through. Jon and Martin are the last to arrive, so they take the table near the back of the room, which has an assortment of ingredients and a print-out of a lemon scone recipe.

Jon turns to Martin. “Baking?”

He shrugs. “I checked over the rest of our schedule. This one is supposed to help us create things together as a team.”

“Good god.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit much, but that, uh, seems to be the running theme.”

Well, at least they can scope out the room while working on the pastries. Unless they make some attempt at baking, he and Martin will likely come under scrutiny from the event coordinators. Jon doesn’t plan to explain their true purpose here. “I suppose we’d better look at the recipe, then.”

The instructor introduces herself to the twenty people clustered in pairs around the tables. “Thank you for coming to this session. My two usual assistants were unfortunately called away, but Odette Hearth, a good friend of mine and co-owner of the hotel, has graciously volunteered to help us out.” There are scatters of polite applause, but based on Odette Hearth’s crossed arms and surly expression, “volunteered” is perhaps not the best word to describe her presence here.

Once the instructor leaves them to their own devices, Martin turns to him. “Do you want to work on the glaze?” he asks. “I can make the batter for the scones.” He’s already shifting the ingredients around the table accordingly.

“It doesn’t look like I have much choice,” Jon comments dryly, but he claims a mixing bowl and a few measuring cups. As they both reach for the cooking utensils, their hands briefly brush, and Jon quickly snatches his hand back. It’s ridiculous to react to something so small, especially when they had been much closer only hours ago. He can’t help it, though. Jon doesn’t touch many people in his life, and Martin’s hands and lips had been so warm that Jon had wanted to sink into him. After Martin left the room, it had taken Jon a minute to scrape together enough sense to comb his hair and splash some water on his face. It was only once he was sure that he didn’t look disheveled anymore that he collected his things and left the room.

“Sorry,” Martin mumbles. His cheeks are flushing, but Jon tries not to read into it. Martin is probably just overly conscious of the fact that he’s here with his boss instead of whomever he would rather be on a couple’s retreat with.

“Could you pass the lemon extract?” he asks, hoping to change the subject.

The glaze takes considerably less time to prepare than the batter, so after cleaning his half of the workspace, Jon turns to assist Martin, who is currently measuring out the flour and baking powder. “Sugar?” Martin asks.

Jon’s heart does something odd in his chest. “I assume you’re asking me to measure the ingredient rather than testing out an endearment for our cover.”

Martin gives him a startled look and then laughs. “Yes, I was asking you to measure it out.”

Jon searches their supplies for a clean measuring cup. “We’re neither of us suited for that endearment.”

“Do you have a preference, then?” Martin asks.

 _Darling_ comes immediately to the tip of his tongue. In fact, it’s worrying how quickly he has an answer to that, because Jon can’t remember ever deliberately considering what he’d like Martin to call him. With effort, he stamps down the spark of panic. “It’s more that I know what I don’t want to be called,” he lies.

They’re interrupted by Hearth, who still looks sullen as she moves between tables to check up on the students. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Martin shakes his head. “No, we’re doing fine. Thank you for stepping in to help with the class, though. Does the hotel host a lot of events?”

“Yes, we’re busy all year round.”

“Jon and I heard that you even had filming here last week. They were looking for ghosts?”

Hearth’s eyes narrow. “Oh, there wouldn’t have been any filming if my brother had told me about them. He approved their amateur YouTube project without meeting them first, and we ended up with a bunch of superstitious nuts looking for spirits and werewolves.”

Jon doesn’t think highly of their academic rigor either, but her word choice gets his hackles up. People say much the same thing about the Magnus Institute. “You don’t think there’s any truth to the stories?”

“No, and fake paranormal investigators only add to the gossip. It was slander, all of it, just to get views,” she spits. “I’m trying to run a business here. I want to attract happy guests. Those two hosts playing up the stories of a ‘haunted hotel’ is the fastest way to lose customers.”

Jon tenses. “Considering that one of them went missing, I’d think you would be more sympathetic.”

“Missing?” Hearth laughs. “Her coworkers might pretend that she disappeared, but I’m sure that she just went home. It must heighten the drama for the episode to have some shots of the police station and her worried-looking peers as someone narrates what could have happened to her. She’ll show up in a few weeks, after it’s published, with some trumped-up story about monsters in the woods or invisible people.”

“Something might really have happened to her, though,” Jon argues. “What about the room fire that night?”

“What about it?” she challenges. “It was an accident.”

“I thought the police were still investigating.”

“And they’ll find that it was an accident. It’s not unheard of for students on a weekend trip to cram more people into a room than we allow. All it would take is for one of them to be careless during one of their late-night parties. Fire spreads so quickly, after all.”

Jon opens his mouth to question her further, but someone clears their throat for attention beside Hearth. A young woman from two tables over is standing there with her hand awkwardly half-raised. “My girlfriend and I had a question about the recipe. Could you…?”

“Yes,” Hearth says, “I’m finished here.”

Jon and Martin exchange a look as she walks away. “It sounds like she has a motive,” Martin says.

“It does,” Jon confirms, filing her name away for later.

* * *

By the time they finish assembling the scones, Jon is tapping his foot impatiently. It’s such a familiar sound that Martin has to hide a smile. The noise might signal bad news for Jon’s assistants at the Institute, but in this context, it’s definitely aimed at someone else – probably the event coordinators – and Martin has occasionally taken a guilty pleasure in watching him get snippy at other people when nothing is at stake. It’s entertaining, if nothing else.

“Can we leave?” Jon asks when the instructor checks in with them.

She looks surprised by his question. “You haven’t baked your scones yet.”

Jon gives a very performative, very pointed look around the conference room. It’s so dramatic that Martin wants to kiss him. “And where should we do that?”

“We’ll take you down to the old kitchen. The restaurant has its own cooking space, of course, but that wing was added to the building later. We still do some prep work in the hotel’s original kitchen, but it’s not in use right now.”

Hearth is the one to lead them across the hotel after they’ve signed a list of safety rules for the kitchen. Martin’s attempts at small talk and Jon’s leading questions about Melanie King are both ignored. Four couples are already in the kitchen with another staff member, sliding their baking sheets into an enormous oven. While he and Jon wait their turn, Martin glances idly around the kitchen. It’s a decent-sized space despite the low ceiling, and it’s crammed with an excess of old appliances. There’s a strange, lurching bellow from the direction of the oven, but Hearth and the cook don’t look concerned, so Martin puts it from his mind. On the far side of the room, there’s a small window facing the woods. Through it, he sees that the weather is still nice outside. Perhaps he and Jon could take their dinner out and find a bench or –

Is that movement in the trees? Martin’s heart drops into his stomach and he hastily abandons the baking sheet, hurrying over to get a better look at whatever he’d glimpsed. It shouldn’t be hard to spot again, because it had been about the size of a large dog.

“What is it?” Jon asks, joining him at the window.

Martin scans the forest until he spots it again, but it’s not a monster. In fact, he’s suddenly not sure why he thought it was something other than human, because he recognizes the figure as Woodgrove, who is crouched down to tie her shoelaces. She straightens up when she’s done, but lingers at the edge of the tree line, unaware that she’s being observed. It’s strange that he’d imagined something completely different for a moment. After his panic passes, the tension loosens in his shoulders. “It was nothing. Just Dr. Woodgrove out for a walk in the forest. I’ve been jumpy ever since, ah, you know.”

Jon nods. “I haven’t seen any worms since we left London.”

“ _Good_.”

Behind them, the unhealthy belch of the oven wails again and then there’s a sickening _pop_. Martin whips around to see flames pouring out of the still-open oven as the nearest guest staggers back into her wife’s arms, knocking an assortment of kitchen supplies off the counter in her haste. Someone screams.

“It’s never done that before,” the cook insists as everyone steps back. “There must be some malfunction. It shouldn’t be able to do that.” As if in response, the fire grows until it obscures the scones and trays in the oven. It catches on a roll of paper towels that had been knocked to the floor.

There must be a fire extinguisher in here. Martin scans the room for one and turns up nothing (which is outrageous, this is a _kitchen_ ), and in the time that it takes him to look, the flames have spread to a row of aprons and climbed up to the old wooden cabinets built into the wall. A fire alarm starts ringing.

Martin sizes up the window behind them and decides that neither of them would fit through it. He looks back at the fire and starts pushing Jon towards the only clear path to the door, around the island in the center of the kitchen. Jon takes the hint and staggers into motion. They haven’t made it more than a few steps when Jon stumbles over an uneven tile and his tape recorder drops, skittering and spinning away across the tile. He jerks to a stop and Martin runs into him, prodding him forward.

“Wait, Martin, I need –”

“We can get another one, it’s fine.”

“It has my notes. I need it,” Jon insists. He pushes past Martin back into danger, scrambling around the blaze to find the device.

“Jon,” he cries, horrified by Jon’s awful sense of self-preservation. Is Martin _really_ going to have to drag him kicking and screaming out of a fire? He’ll do it if he has to – that’s not the concern here – but honestly, it shouldn’t be necessary. Jon is a fully-grown adult who shouldn’t need to have common sense explained to him. If Jon survives this, Martin is going to roll him up in bubble wrap and keep him somewhere safe where he can be loved and cherished without hurting himself out of sheer stupidity.

Jon pops up from behind the island, triumphant, and quickly rejoins Martin in the rush to leave. “Let’s go, let’s go,” he repeats, passing Martin and then dragging him by the hand as if _Martin_ is the reluctant one here.

They’re out the door and down the hallway before Martin gets enough breath back for words. “For Christ’s sake, Jon, you can’t just _run_ into a _burning room_ , no matter what’s left in there. What if you’d gotten hurt?” He grabs Jon’s hands without thinking and turns them over to check for burns. Martin almost brushes a kiss over Jon’s knuckles, but he manages to resist at the last moment. Thankfully, there isn’t any damage that he can see. After ascertaining that Jon is unharmed, Martin belatedly notices that the tape recorder looks pristine, which is almost rude of it.

“I’m fine.” Jon doesn’t look winded or terrified or any of the dozen other things that Martin is feeling right now. His eyes are lit up like he’s a detective with his next big clue. “Martin, did you notice anything strange while we were in there? Given the history of fires in the area, the timing on that explosion is highly suspicious.”

“What? You think that was – oh.” Martin had been so occupied with their safety during the escape that he hadn’t even considered the potential causes. “It didn’t feel the same as Prentiss. The only thing that seemed out of place were those noises from the oven.” He tries not to think too hard about the symbolism of the scorched scones. They were meant to be an expression of two people collaborating to create something good, a way to move forward for couples struggling with their relationships. Instead, the burnt, ruined pastries paint a picture of destruction and loss.

Jon hums pensively. “I hadn’t noticed anything either.” He turns to where the rest of the couples from the kitchen have gathered. The cook is with them, trying to keep everyone calm, and beside her is Hearth, who looks remarkably unconcerned by the scene. “We should interview the others.”

“ _Carefully_ ,” Martin emphasizes. “They’ve just had a scare.”

“So have we. As far as they’re aware, we’re here for relationship counselling. We’ll just be two concerned people trying to understand what happened to us. This is a promising lead.”

He and Jon are really doing this, Martin realizes. “Right, then. Who do you want to talk to first?”

* * *

Jon is singing in the shower. Martin can hear him from where he’s stood beside the desk, trying and failing to read one of the other statements that Jon had brought from work. He can’t make out any of the lyrics, but it doesn’t matter. Martin knows that Jon can sing now. His dreams are already filled with Jon murmuring into his ear, telling him how clever and diligent and handsome he is, and now Martin is going to imagine lullabies and love songs in Jon’s voice. He wants to lay his head in Jon’s lap and listen to him sing whatever music he likes best.

This weekend keeps giving him unexpected insights into Jon’s habits outside of work and it’s fueling Martin’s domestic fantasies. He knows that Jon showers at night and sleeps in a faded band tee and flannel pajamas. He knows that Jon wakes up early on his days off, dresses like he’s going to work, and needs to be prompted to eat breakfast. Martin imagines getting the chance someday to learn all of his routines and preferences, and Jon, in turn, learning all of Martin’s preferences. He wonders if Jon sings when he does the dishes and if he plays the radio when he cleans the house. Does he like one side of the couch better? Does he have a favorite burner on the stove? Does he have opinions about the how his kitchen cabinets are organized?

Martin is still lost in thought when the door to the bathroom opens and Jon emerges, toweling off his hair. Jon takes one look at him and frowns. “Something wrong, Martin?”

His knees are weak and he aches to have Jon in his arms. “No, nothing. I was just going through the material you brought on the hotel.”

“Oh. Well, the shower’s free now,” he says, “so go ahead when you’re finished.”

Normally, Martin showers in the morning, but he might have to make an exception tonight to have a moment alone to think. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

* * *

It’s after one when Jon decides to call it a night. He drops his phone on the nightstand as he climbs into bed and it makes a loud _clunk_ in the quiet of their hotel room. Beside him, Martin jolts with a muffled gasp and then whimpers loudly in his sleep. He rolls onto his back and Jon can see that his brow is creased in worry.

Jon reaches out automatically to soothe him and then freezes halfway. They’re not pretending for anyone right now and Martin is asleep, so Jon doesn’t have permission to touch him. Instead, Jon clears his throat. “You’re safe, Martin.” Hopefully a familiar voice will convince Martin’s subconscious that he isn’t being tormented by Prentiss. “It’s just me,” he adds foolishly, as if Jon is someone that Martin would normally expect to find in his bed.

“Jon?” Martin asks, blinking sleepily, and Jon’s heart flips right over in his chest. Hearing his name like that from Martin is not helping him resist the desire to offer comfort from Martin’s nightmares.

He clutches the sheets and holds his breath until the irrational urge to gather Martin into his arms subsides. “Go back to sleep.”

“Jon,” he sighs, eyes falling closed, and Jon is full to bursting with emotions he isn’t ready to think about. He takes a deep, shuddering breath as he runs through the list of reasons why he can’t have this.

Jon eventually pulls the duvet up to his chin and rolls away from Martin to face the wall. Tonight just reinforces Jon’s reasons to be wary of sharing a bed with someone. It exposes vulnerabilities that Jon doesn’t know how to handle. “Goodnight, Martin,” he breathes quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented so far! I treasure every single response :D
> 
>  **Next time:** Jon doesn’t write a love letter, Martin makes an alarming discovery, and our heroes get lost.


	5. Don’t Let Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning in the end notes

“I’m not writing a love letter,” Jon informs the session coordinator during their morning class on Saturday. Beside him, Martin bites his tongue and swallows a wave of disappointment. He’s selfishly curious about how Jon would express affection on paper. Would he compose a no-nonsense, unapologetic declaration of his feelings? Would he talk around them with metaphors to avoid saying what he means?

“It’s part of today’s activity,” the therapist replies, not budging an inch. Martin and Jon had planned to speak to Woodgrove at the group counselling session, but it turns out that a different counselor is leading this one. “Yesterday with Dr. Woodgrove, you all focused on the problems that you’ll need to work through as a couple. Today, I want you to think about the good parts of your relationship and why you want to make things work. Writing down the reasons that you like your partner, and hearing the reasons that they like you, is a step towards overcoming the hurdles together.”

Jon sets his jaw and glares at her. “Fine.” As soon as she leaves to speak with the guests at another table, he turns to Martin. “Obviously, this is an unnecessary exercise in our case.”

Martin’s heart cracks. They’re not even going to pretend. He knows that he shouldn’t want it or expect it, but his hopes have risen just enough that they hurt when they’re crushed. “Right, of course, there’s no need to write anything.” He squeezes out a laugh that manages to sound halfway normal. “It’s not like we’re actually in love.”

“Exactly.” They lapse into a painful silence, neither of them moving for the pens and paper on their table. Martin is sorely tempted to start drafting a poem in case the counselor checks on them again, but would that make Jon suspicious of Martin’s motives? Would he think that it was a waste of effort?

If Martin is being honest with himself, Jon probably wouldn’t care either way. His opinion of Martin is already low enough. “Do you really correct all of my reports?” he finds himself asking.

Jon blinks at him. “What?”

“Yesterday at the first session, you said that I’m disorganized and that you don’t like how I do anything.”

“That’s not exactly what I said.”

“It’s what you meant, though.” Jon’s lack of denial is damning enough. Great. Martin ignores the sharp pain in his chest. “What’s wrong with my reports, Jon?” And why hasn’t he said anything? They’ve worked in the same building for _four years_. Christ.

“They’re inconsistent,” Jon says. “You use different styles in different reports and your formatting is atrocious.”

“Be more specific. I won’t get any better unless you tell me.”

Jon’s reaction is surprising. Instead of conceding that rational point, he looks conflicted, glancing over at the clock as if twenty minutes might have miraculously passed in the three minutes they’ve been sat here. “I… could do that.” The neutrality in his tone suggests that he doesn’t want to.

“Problem?”

 _Yes,_ Jon’s face says, but he doesn’t confirm the answer aloud. Martin waits. When it’s clear that Martin isn’t going to let this go, Jon sighs and reaches for his messenger bag. “I suppose it’s not like we have anything better to do until class is over.” He unpacks a few of the folders and flips open one with some old follow-up research filed behind the statement. “Right, here’s what they’re supposed to look like.”

* * *

Going over the report feels an awful lot like giving in. Jon has spent a significant chunk of time clutching desperately at reasons to dislike Martin, and the formatting issues in Martin’s reports have been high on his list. They give Jon something to ruthlessly nitpick so that he can work himself into a low level of annoyance at any time and _not_ think about how Martin makes him feel. Regrettably, Jon can’t think of any logical reasons to refuse Martin’s demand for specifics, only one very illogical reason.

This might actually be worse than writing a letter about his emotions.

* * *

After their morning class, Jon begins to organize the statements in chronological order and directs Martin to research Madeline Woodgrove. Some quick googling on his phone tells Martin that Woodgrove had been eight years old, plus or minus, the year that the disappearances started. However, he isn’t willing to remove her from the suspect list just yet because she _definitely_ had a motive to hurt Melanie King. There’s nothing saying that all of the disappearances were paranormal in nature.

A notification pops up on his mobile and Martin sees that Sasha emailed something to his work account about Woodgrove. Jon had mentioned at breakfast that he’d messaged her late last night about Isle and Hearth, but Martin doesn’t expect anything back on them just yet. Research takes time.

The email attachments include what Sasha had found (well, hacked) from the Hearth’s databases. Martin scrolls through the list of every date attached to the name “Woodgrove”. The older entries are probably from her trips with her parents, but the later visits are under Madeline Woodgrove’s name and are all for single rooms. Martin’s eyes catch on a familiar date. He frowns and snags a few files from the desk where Jon is working before settling back on the bed. He flips through and finds the matching date on one of the statements. Then, getting a bad feeling, he checks some other dates.

Martin’s guess is right. That visit and Woodgrove’s next seven visits all line up with supernatural occurrences. “Jon, I think Dr. Woodgrove is doing more than studying the incidents here.”

This immediately catches Jon’s attention. “Explain.”

“All of the reports about strange creatures in the forest and the unexplained, violent deaths seem to sync up with her visits.” Martin passes his phone to Jon, who scans the list. “I haven’t found anything yet suggesting that the other phenomena are linked to her, but eight visits that line up with eight sightings of an unidentified predator makes a compelling case. She knows more than she’s saying.” Catching a glimpse of her at the edge of the woods now makes much more sense, as does the moment right before when he’d been sure that he spotted an animal. Martin also suddenly remembers that Woodgrove was specifically invested in hunting down answers about the disappearances and fires. She’d said nothing about the animal attacks. He wonders if all of the other victims of violence had been interested in the paranormal. The woman whose boyfriend was killed had been trying to find the source of the ghostly voice in the gardens.

“Fuck.” Jon removes his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Martin feels about the same. “That complicates things. She’s – well, it sounds like she’s involved _somehow_ , but we still don’t know if Dr. Woodgrove is responsible for Ms. King’s current troubles. No one has found a body yet, and I have to believe that Ms. King is still alive for this investigation to continue. We’ll just have to be more careful about how we approach Dr. Woodgrove.”

“Shouldn’t we do something about the fact that Dr. Woodgrove is terrorizing and _killing_ guests, or summoning something else that can?”

“Unfortunately, this is all circumstantial. After we recover Ms. King, we can revisit the files and bring the information to the police, though I’m not sure how to explain our theory without admitting that we’ve illegally accessed the hotel’s records. For all we know, the beast has been stalking Dr. Woodgrove for years and she’s just a victim. We could look into the statistics for animal attacks in Woodgrove’s neighborhood, wherever that is. There’s nothing proving that she’s a… that the creature is linked to her.”

Martin gives Jon a pass on avoiding the word _werewolf_ , but he can’t let his argument stand. “You don’t believe that.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I’m not closing down the possibility. It’s also possible that Dr. Woodgrove can predict the creature’s attacks based on factors that we haven’t examined yet. We just don’t know enough about what’s going on.”

He’s not wrong about that. “Right, then. Maybe when we talk to the officer in charge of Ms. King’s case, we can bring up how often she’s been here. We can pass it off by saying that it came up while we were chatting with her, and we’d already had an interest in the case.”

“Yes, that might work.”

* * *

“I don’t know,” Martin says later while they layer up for the cold, “I think the hike could be fun.”

In a better world, Jon would have no reason to try out the mountain. He’d done one weekend away with some of his university friends and had not enjoyed struggling up and down the rocky trail. Unfortunately, the hike he and Martin have been scheduled for offers the perfect chance to survey the area around the hotel. Despite Jon’s bone-deep certainty that Melanie King’s disappearance is supernatural, he is going to be thorough in his research and explore other possibilities. “We’ll see,” he replies, unconvinced.

“Dr. Woodgrove is leading a class right now, so we won’t run into her on the trail.” That’s not why Jon is dreading the hike, but he doesn’t correct Martin.

When they arrive in the lobby, Jon spots about a dozen other people with backpacks and water bottles near the door. Two people are on the verge of an argument, a handful seem woefully underdressed for an outdoor walk in March, and the rest look about as excited for the hike as Jon is. He continues to scan the group and his eyes catch on Odette Hearth, who’s standing stiffly to the side with a clipboard and pen. She keeps turning her head to the side and muttering something, although when Jon follows her gaze, he can’t see anyone standing beside her. It’s like she’s talking to someone that he can’t see, which is odd at best and suspicious at worst.

Jon nudges Martin. “Let’s keep an eye on her.” Martin nods.

Hearth leads the group through the safety lecture and the other preparations with minimal fuss and they all head out to the trail, which starts about fifty feet from the parking lot and disappears into the trees. Jon is grateful that the snow has melted, because he hadn’t reckoned on hiking when he selected his footwear for the weekend. However, no snow also means that he can’t easily tell whether someone like Melanie King might have left the path and gotten into trouble.

About thirty minutes out, a fog sweeps over them without warning. Jon is at the back of the group with Martin, checking anyplace that one of the missing people might have fallen or gotten stuck. A few other hikers have given them strange looks, but Jon ignores them. There are no obvious signs that anyone strayed from the trail or got dragged off through the trees by some ghoulish nightmare. Jon steps back from a rotted wooden railing where he’d been peering over the edge of a drop, and as he looks towards the rest of the hikers, he realizes that he can no longer see Hearth leading the group. She and two couples near the front are obscured by a thick mist that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Martin, do you see that?” He remembers the unnatural fog on their drive up to the hotel and the mention in Georgie’s statement about unusual weather patterns. He also remembers Naomi Herne and the awful horror on her face as she recounted her experience in the cemetery. Jon swallows.

“It got colder just now, didn’t it?” Martin asks, shivering and stepping closer to him. “We should catch up to the others before the fog gets worse.”

For once, they’re in agreement. “Yes, that’s for the best.” Jon picks up the pace and hears Martin do the same beside him. He wipes at his glasses to see more clearly, but the glasses aren’t the problem. The eerie haze is spreading around them with alarming speed, and it swallows up more of the hiking group further up the path. “Wait,” Jon calls after them. “Slow down for a moment.”

“Where are you?” someone shouts back. “Can’t see a thing in this fog. Ms. Hearth, hold on, we’ve lost some of them.”

“We need to head back,” Jon hears another voice declare. “It isn’t safe to be out here like this.”

Someone else gasps. “Stop! Does anyone see my husband? He was here just a moment ago.”

“I’m here, sweetheart, where are you?”

Jon can’t see anyone now, but he feels a hand take his. “Martin?”

“I don’t want to get separated,” his assistant explains. “Something is wrong.” Martin can feel it too, then. They struggle to catch up with the group, but the other voices keep moving farther away. After five minutes of stumbling over roots and bumping into branches, Jon can’t hear anything but Martin breathing beside him. “Do you think we took a wrong turn?” Martin asks. “I didn’t see a fork in the trail, but how else could we have lost them so quickly?”

“We’re not lost,” Jon corrects faintly, though he doesn’t believe the words. Another wave of cold hits and he feels a growing sense of abandonment creep over him. He and Martin are deeply, profoundly alone out here. The group is gone, along with the trail maps that could have led them back to the hotel. A rescue service wouldn’t be able to spot them in this mist, if the others have even realized that Jon and Martin are gone. There is nothing left but to be enveloped by the fog.

Martin gives his hand a light squeeze. “We should pick a meeting spot. If we get separated, whoever gets out of here first should wait at the sign by the trailhead.”

“It won’t come to that,” Jon assures him, but he doesn’t believe that either.

A twig snaps like a gunshot and it’s the last straw for any attempt at calm. “Oh shit,” Martin breathes, and suddenly Jon is being dragged down the path by the iron grip that Martin has on him. He recovers quickly and starts to run too, fear pumping through his veins. “Come on, come on, come on,” Martin urges, panic in his voice. His alarm feeds Jon’s terror and makes it hard to think, makes him less careful. Jon whacks his head on a protruding tree branch and loses his footing, but Martin pulls him back up like he weighs nothing. He can’t hear anything chasing them but that doesn’t mean nothing is there. It’s not like monsters have to make _sense_ , after all.

They run and run and run until Jon is ready to drop, lungs heaving with effort and legs screaming in pain. “We can’t – I can’t keep going. We have to stop.”

Martin slows to a halt and pants for breath. “I think I have some water if you need it.”

“We’ll split it,” Jon decides, too tired and too terrified to think about the implications of sharing a bottle. Without losing contact with Jon, Martin rummages around his backpack with one hand and passes the bottle over. Holding hands had been a smart move, because they’re in the middle of a forest and Jon can’t see a single tree around them. If they stray too far apart from each other, they really might get separated. It’s uncanny.

Time seems to slip around them in a surreal, almost dreamlike fashion. According to Jon’s watch, it takes them over two hours to find a trail marker. In fairness, they might have passed one or a dozen already, but it’s only as the fog starts to thin that Jon spots the red ribbon tied to a high branch. “Which way?” he wonders aloud, gazing down the indistinct path in either direction.

“Down,” Martin answers. “We were headed up the mountain when we got separated from the group. Going down should take us back.” Jon can’t argue with that logic, so they trek down the slope. After forty minutes, Jon starts to pick out familiar landmarks, and a half-hour after that, he spots the sign at the entrance to the trail.

Jon pushes open the hotel’s front door and the surge of noise and activity leaves him reeling. After hours of drowning in that dreadful solitude, the sounds are a welcome relief. “Room?” he asks, still drained.

“Room,” Martin agrees.

The moment the door to their room is closed behind them, Jon starts shaking. The yawning void of loneliness inside him still demands to be filled. His vision is blurring badly. He might be crying, but he’s not sure. “That was awful.”

“Jon, are you alright?”

He’s so _alone_. He’d do anything to not feel alone. Jon wipes at his eyes and looks up at Martin, who is still in the entry hall with him, looking concerned. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Martin softens. “I won’t.”

The gentle look on his face makes Jon’s heart flutter and gives him a terrible idea. _Martin won’t want this, you’re just going to embarrass yourself_ , his conscience warns, but he’s still aching with the memory of utter isolation. He grasps Martin’s shoulders, leans up halfway, and meets Martin’s gaze. Martin’s eyebrows jump in understanding, but he doesn’t stop Jon from stretching the rest of the way up to his lips. From the first touch, Jon can feel the loneliness slowly leeching out of him and he sighs with relief into Martin’s mouth. Martin kisses him back just as gently and reaches for Jon’s hips to steady him.

It had been easier to talk himself out of his attachment to Martin when their only interactions involved Jon correcting Martin’s work and listening to him chat with coworkers in the breakroom. Now that he’s spending time with Martin regularly in the Archives and kissing him breathless here, it’s so much harder to stay aloof.

* * *

Kissing Jon is ruining Martin for anyone else, but he doesn’t have enough self-control to stop. He wants to hold onto Jon forever. Once the weekend is over, they’ll go back to being coworkers and Martin will have to look at Jon and know how he tastes without being able to do anything about it, so he’s going to savor every chance he gets.

Their kisses start slowly and softly while they both recover from the waking nightmare that they’d somehow escaped. The lethal cold that had worked its way into Martin’s bones and left him devastatingly isolated starts to wane. Jon warms him up, pulling him forward until Jon is pressed against the wall and Martin is pressed against him, touching as much of him as he can. His kisses continue to be sweet and inviting.

When the last of the cold is gone – when it’s been gone for a while – he realizes that Jon hasn’t pushed him away and that the kisses have gotten deeper. Martin can’t help the quiet moan that escapes him while his heart tries to beat out of his chest, but Jon doesn’t seem bothered by the sound. Martin maybe loses his mind a little and starts mouthing at Jon’s jaw, eager to taste more of him, and Jon responds with a muffled whine that sets Martin’s blood on fire. If not for the fact that his neck is starting to ache from the angle, this moment would be perfectly blissful. It’s an easy problem to fix, though; a stool for Jon would put them at the same height, or taking this little session horizontal would make positioning much easier.

Whoa, that’s a dangerous thought. Martin breaks away from kissing the spot under Jon’s ear. He doesn’t completely let go of Jon, but he steps back and spends a few moments trying to reign himself in. He must have more self-control left than he thought.

“That was – um. That seemed to work,” Jon says, breathing heavily.

“Seconded.” Martin certainly isn’t cold anymore. Jon leans back against the wall, baring his neck beautifully and closing his eyes. “Do you… feel better?” He feels silly asking it, and even sillier about how much he needs Jon’s answer to be positive.

Jon nods. “Much better.” Actually, he looks like he’s about to crash, which Martin can’t blame him for after hours of wandering through the sea of fog. Jon had probably used his last burst of energy to banish the chill and make out with Martin, which is a thought that Martin is going to put away until he has the time to properly analyze every inch of it.

“Uh. I think I need a break before we get back on track, Jon.” What he needs is a cold shower immediately. “How does a nap sound?”

“We should get back to work, but sitting down for a few minutes may not be a bad plan.” Jon removes his shoes and lurches over to the bed. By the time Martin has hung up his coat, set his backpack next to his suitcase, and grabbed a change of clothes for the shower, Jon is already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: The kiss in this chapter could be considered mild dubious consent, since Jon and Martin are trying to shake off the influence of the Lonely. However, they both want it and keep kissing after the Lonely is gone. If dubcon is triggering for you, please keep yourself safe. You can stop reading after the lines: “Martin softens. ‘I won’t.’”
> 
> \--------------
> 
> In case anyone was worried about the other hikers, they’re fine. They skirted the edges of the Lonely, but since they stuck together, they did not get properly pulled in.
> 
> I know I say this every chapter, but I am so touched by all of the comments I’ve received so far. Thank you all so much!
> 
>  **Next time:** Martin suggests that they call Melanie King’s girlfriend for more information. To avoid being cornered by a suspect, Jon agrees to attend the ballroom dance class with Martin.


	6. One Step Closer

Martin startles awake from his nap, sure that something is crawling on him. He leaps out of bed, heart pounding, and checks himself over for worms. Nothing. It was just a dream, then. His flailing doesn’t seem to have disturbed Jon, so Martin steps quietly towards his phone on the desk and checks the time. It looks like he’d slept for about an hour after the failed hike.

“Martin?” Jon’s sleepy voice tugs directly on his heart. Apparently, Martin had been louder than he thought.

“What is it?”

Jon blinks awake and sits up. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. We should continue investigating.”

“Right, so I was thinking: that fog, whatever it did to us? It might have done the same to the people who went missing. However, it doesn’t explain the other events from the reports we’ve read.” Jon nods slowly. “The paranormal investigators had all sorts of equipment set up when they were here. I think we should follow up on the statement from Monday and see if Ms. Barker’s team encountered anything like this last week, or if they have data other than the video footage that might help.”

“I suppose Sasha could send her an email, but it might take some time to get a response.”

“We have Ms. Barker’s contact details, Jon. We could call her ourselves.”

Jon’s face screws up into an expression that Martin has never seen before. He looks almost cagey as he fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve. “I don’t know about that. I… might have… known Georgie personally in university.”

Martin takes a moment let that surprising confession sit, and one source of confusion slots into place. “Is that why you’re doing all of this?”

“Yes.” Jon looks like he’d rather be talking about anything else, which isn’t a surprise. He’s always been quiet about his life outside the Magnus Institute. “I saw her statement and knew that I needed to do something. Georgie is not prone to baseless superstition, no matter what you hear about her podcast.” He meets Martin’s gaze head-on, as if daring him to argue. “Whatever happened to Ms. King scared her. Georgie and I may have fallen out of touch, but I owe it to her to try.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“The Magnus Institute is meant to be academic and impartial, as Elias keeps telling me. We’re only supposed to research. That wouldn’t help her.”

This revelation doesn’t help Martin’s hopeless crush on Jon. From the sound of it, he and Georgie Barker aren’t even friends anymore. She hadn’t mentioned Jon when she was in the Archives. Nevertheless, Jon had still felt compelled to travel all the way out here and turn over every stone to find Melanie King for her. It’s sweet of him.

Martin realizes that he hasn’t answered Jon. “I could make the call, if you don’t want to talk to her.”

“No, I’ll do it. I still have her number saved.” Jon unlocks his phone and presumably scrolls through his contacts.

Suddenly, Martin isn’t sure whether his presence will be welcome. Jon and his old friend might have some catching up to do. “Should I leave?”

“What? No, that’s not necessary.” Jon presses the phone to his ear and waits. It’s so quiet in the room that Martin can hear when someone picks up the line. “It’s Jon, don’t hang up,” he says.

Well. Maybe their friendship had ended badly. On the other end, Martin can hear: “ _I know it’s you, Jon, I have caller ID. What’s going on?_ ”

Jon tugs at his collar awkwardly. “I’m at the Hearth looking for Melanie King.”

“ _You’re what?_ ”

He winces. “I work for the Magnus Institute, have done for a few years. I’m, er, the Head Archivist now. That part is new. I was a researcher until recently.”

“ _You don’t have a library science degree or any relevant – wait, not the point. You’re in the mountains right now looking for Melanie because I made a statement.”_

“I couldn’t do nothing,” Jon replies softly, gentler than Martin has ever heard him. Martin’s heart melts at the unspoken sentiment there: _I couldn’t ignore_ _that you asked for help_ _._ He wonders what it takes to earn Jon’s loyalty like that.

“ _Oh. Thank you. What do you need from me to find her?_ ”

Jon begins to pace the room as he describes their experience with the fog. It’s nothing like the eloquent statements he records; it’s short, confusing, and full of frustration as he tries to accurately convey what happened to them. Frankly, it’s a relief to hear it described so emotionally, because Martin couldn’t bear to hear Jon pass it off as something mundane. Jon does _not_ mention how the two of them had resolved the loneliness, which Martin is thankful for. “Did your research turn up anything like that? Or, did you get unusual temperature readings when any fog rolled in?”

“ _No, nothing like that. Also, Melanie was inside when she vanished_.”

“You were staying on the first floor, though. If she had seen something outside her window, would she have climbed out after it?”

“ _Lord only knows. I’d like to think she would use the door like a person, but Melanie is stubborn and curious to the point of carelessness, just like someone else I could name, Jonathan.”_

Jon arches his eyebrows for an audience that can’t see him. He seems to have forgotten that Martin is in the room. “It’s hardly my fault you have a type, Georgina.”

Martin’s stomach sours. Georgie is Jon’s ex. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to call her up out of the blue. Maybe Martin _should_ leave them to have their conversation. He doesn’t want to get caught up in their history or think about how Georgie knows how Jon behaves when he genuinely wants someone. Only an hour ago, Martin had been the one kissing him silly, but nothing they had done was real. Yesterday, the first time, Jon had simply wanted to ensure that the two of them had a convincing cover. The second time, today, they had both been struck by some supernatural emptiness and Martin had been the most convenient option for Jon to banish it. He doesn’t mean anything to Jon beyond being a coworker.

The one relief here is that Jon doesn’t sound jealous of Melanie King. From what Martin can tell, Jon had read the statement, noted that Melanie was Georgie’s girlfriend, and immediately come looking for her on Georgie’s behalf. It doesn’t seem like he’s still hung up on her.

“ _Well, it’s your fault that you go sticking your nose into trouble on purpose_.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to intentionally run headfirst into the malevolent fog.”

“ _I guess we’ll see about – wait, I just remembered something. None of the cameras were missing, not even her mobile. If Melanie had gone haring off after a monster or some creepy fog, she sure as hell would’ve grabbed something to get proof.”_

There’s a knock on their door and Martin fights down a spike of nausea at the sound. He is not trapped in his apartment anymore. It is not Jane Prentiss toying with him outside. Martin swallows nervously and peeks through the peephole to see an older gentleman with the hotel uniform and a name tag. He thinks he’s seen the man at the concierge desk a few times in passing.

Martin keeps one hand on the corkscrew in his pocket and cautiously opens the door. “Can I help you?”

The staff member holds out a slip of paper. “Mr. Isle asked me to bring this to you.”

Martin accepts the note. “Is he a decent boss, Isle?”

“I’d say so. He’s very hands-off. Keeps to himself, mostly, but everything gets done that needs to. He’s not a very talkative man.”

“Yes, he seems, er, very concise. How long has he been here?”

The gentleman exhales and takes a moment to think about it. “Something like twenty years? No, twenty-two years, he was hired the year we had that big storm in June. Same month, even.”

“Oh.” Is there a polite way to ask if he thinks that his boss has been abducting guests? Probably not. “Well. Thank you,” Martin says, trying not to cringe at his stilted tone. “For the note, that is.” The man nods and then steps away from the door.

Martin double-checks that the lock is engaged before examining the paper. On it, as promised, are the contact details for the officer in charge of the missing persons case for Melanie King. Jon is still on the phone, so Martin sets the note on the desk and takes a seat to go back through their reports again. As he sorts through them, a trend starts to form among the statements that makes his chest tighten and dread settle in his stomach.

He reviews the files until a hand touches his shoulder and startles him. “What? Jon?”

Jon is peering over his shoulder, apparently done with the call to Georgie. “Who was at the door?”

“Mr. Isle sent up the contact details for the police investigation.” He passes the note to Jon. “I’m not sure they’ll help if we start talking about our experience, though.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ve noticed something. I finished ordering the statements by date, like you started to do yesterday. The earliest recorded missing person’s report from the Hearth was given the month after Isle was hired, and the spacing between disappearances is worryingly regular. Now, I know that correlation and causation aren’t the same, and there are hundreds of other factors that could have kicked off the disappearances, but after meeting him, I feel like we shouldn’t ignore the possibility.”

“Continue looking into him, then. I’m going to dig into how long Ms. Hearth has co-owned the hotel.”

* * *

Odette Hearth and her older brother inherited their parents’ hotel after their father’s passing in 1991. For a hotel with the number of staff that Jon has seen, it’s surprising that the two of them spend so much time here. Odette Hearth is listed on their website as their primary guide for tours of the mountain trails, and her brother teaches swimming and beach volleyball during the summer months. Beyond that, there’s nothing overtly unusual or sinister about her in the information he finds.

However, Jon doesn’t like how suspicious she was acting before the hike. She’d been speaking to someone in the lobby, but the space beside her had been empty and she hadn’t been wearing a hands-free headset. Jon has no idea what it could mean, but given that she was present when the weather turned strange, he’s not going to dismiss her. Additionally, Hearth was also around when the kitchen caught on fire. Whether she’s behind some of the paranormal incidents herself or just knows more than she’s saying, she bears further investigation.

The contact information that Isle gave them is a dead end, at least for their purposes. Jon calls the number and is informed that the officer in charge of Melanie King’s case won’t be back on shift until Monday, and no, Jon is not allowed to view the evidence that the Hearth had provided, even with the hotel’s permission. He hangs up, frustrated.

Later, Martin tries to tear him away from research for supper. “We missed lunch while running around in the woods,” he points out as he slips on his shoes near the door.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Starving yourself will only make it harder to concentrate later.”

“It hasn’t killed me yet.”

For a second, Martin looks like he’s considering whether to toss Jon over his shoulder, but ultimately he doesn’t move to where Jon is sat on the bed. “It’s your choice. I suppose if I run into Dr. Woodgrove in the restaurant, I’ll just tell her that you’re ill. You’ll have to act sick tomorrow morning when we show up to our private counselling session, though.”

Jon breaks away from the screen to stare at him. He’s surprised at such a dirty move from Martin, even though he knows he shouldn’t be. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?” Martin asks. He flips the lock up and opens the door.

“You’re implying that Dr. Woodgrove will be less likely to believe our ruse if she spots you eating alone during a couple’s retreat. She’ll think we were up to something other than repairing our relationship.” They still have no solid proof that she’s anything other than human, but Jon doesn’t believe that coincidence stretches this far. He and Martin had agreed to be careful approaching her. What Jon has been concerned about – and what perhaps hasn’t occurred to Martin yet – is that if Woodgrove _is_ a monster and serial killer, then the two of them fit the profile of her victims. They’re here to solve a disappearance, which could be seen as encroaching on her personal quest for answers.

“You think so?”

“You’re the one who suggested it to make me eat downstairs.”

Martin yawns. It might be feigned, but Jon isn’t sure enough to call him on it. “Jon, I couldn’t _make_ you do anything that you didn’t want to do. If you’re that insistent on staying here, I’ll bring something back from the restaurant.”

“Wait, that’s not what – I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” Although Martin frequently brings him tea at the Institute, Jon is uncomfortable with continuing that dynamic outside of the workplace. Martin shouldn’t have to fetch him things.

“Guess you’d better come down, then.” Martin exits and locks the door behind him.

Jon gazes blankly at his screen for a full minute, stewing in guilt, before he caves. “For god’s sake,” he curses as he closes the laptop. He pulls on a sweater and grabs his room key before leaving to catch up with Martin.

Dinner is fine. Martin seems pleased with himself, which is perhaps a _little_ attractive, but Jon feels like he should be annoyed at the obvious ploy to get him down here. Martin also tries to coax Jon into attending their evening class in the ballroom, which they had peeked into the previous day while retracing the team’s steps. “You said we should come back in the evening,” Martin points out logically as they leave the restaurant. “We have a train to catch tomorrow night, so this is our best chance.”

Jon had indeed said that, but he didn’t mean that they should participate in the activity. “We have more important things to do than a dance lesson.”

He misses the beginning of Martin’s response because his gaze catches on Arcus Isle approaching from the opposite direction. People seem to swerve away from him without noticing, to the point that one woman bumps into a plant stand, but Isle’s attention is fixed on them. Specifically, he’s giving Martin a considering look that Jon doesn’t like. He looks hungry, for want of a better word. Jon watches Isle stop in front of the elevator, where Jon had been intending to lead Martin. He doesn’t want to be trapped in an elevator with Isle, and after their terrible hike, the stairs are a distinctly unappealing option. “I suppose we could do a quick check of the ballroom and duck out early,” Jon finds himself saying.

“Really?” Martin sounds surprised, and Jon tugs his attention away from Isle.

“What do you mean, ‘really’?”

Martin flushes. “I didn’t expect you to agree with me. You don’t usually, ah, take breaks on purpose. I think that clearing our heads for a bit with the lesson will help our focus on the case later.”

“I said a _quick_ check,” Jon reiterates, but Martin doesn’t look any less satisfied.

* * *

Jon blatantly ignores the instructors’ demonstration in favor of scanning the ballroom, and Martin’s soft fantasies of dancing with him slink back into the depths of his imagination.

“I’ll lead,” Jon says shortly when the group splits into couples for practice.

“I think I’d have an easier time spinning you than the other way around, given our relative heights.” Also, he can’t imagine Jon Sims dipping him without it ending in disaster.

“I can handle it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Martin tries another tack. “The lead takes more concentration and you’d have less time to watch the room for anything paranormal.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “I’m concerned about how little faith you have in me. I _am_ capable of multitasking, you know.”

“I’m sure you’re capable of putting in the work, but I’m not sure why you’d want to. Five minutes ago, you didn’t like dancing at all.”

“I said that we have more important things to do,” Jon retorts. “That’s not the same thing.” Then, apparently realizing what he’d just admitted, he looks away from Martin and adjusts his glasses self-consciously. Martin waits, letting the silence ask the question for him, and Jon gives in. “I, ah, have some prior experience with partner dances. It would take more effort to unlearn the lead. The follower’s steps are backwards for me.”

Jon dances. The knowledge knocks the breath right out of Martin, but he tries to keep the fondness off his face. “Oh, I didn’t know you’d done this before.” Jon dances, Jon _dances_. “Is it something you do a lot of?”

“Ah, no, I haven’t had the time or the interest since I lost touch with my university peers.”

“That’s too bad.” Around them, Martin notices that the other couples are already fumbling their way through the basic steps. Most of them aren’t in time with the music playing through the speakers. He hastily extends his hand to Jon. “Should we get started?”

Jon steps in and arranges the two of them into the starting position. Martin’s face heats up at how close they are, and he’s relieved that Jon doesn’t make eye contact as they start to dance. Jon seems comfortable with the motions, or at least less prickly than usual for him. He’s looking over Martin’s shoulder, probably searching the rafters for ghosts, but Martin keeps checking his footing, trying to follow the beat of the song as well as Jon’s movements.

It’s not perfect. Martin’s inexperience and Jon’s divided attention keep it from being the quiet, intimate activity that he’d imagined it as. Still, Jon’s hands are gentle and warm, and he doesn’t say anything when Martin misses a step, which is often. Martin keeps waiting for the blistering criticism that he’s used to, but nothing comes. Jon seems to be exercising unforeseen reserves of tact – or he’s just not paying enough attention. After Martin stops wincing at every misstep, the silence between them loses the tense, stilted air and settles into something more natural. Martin eventually catches on enough to sync up with Jon and link together a few different steps in a row without faltering.

At one point, Jon goes up on his toes to spin him and Martin tries not to be charmed by it as he twists under Jon’s arm. He hopes Jon doesn’t read too much into the soppy affection that’s sure to be written across his face. Martin must hide it well enough, though, because Jon just gives him a look that says, “ _See? I told you I could handle it”._ He wants to tease Jon, but not if it will break this strange, happy spell where Martin gets to hold him close and fulfill one of his daydreams.

During one of the lulls between songs, Jon takes a step back from Martin. “We should get back to work,” he says, but he sounds uncharacteristically soft.

Martin bites down on the impulse to ask if Jon would like to try this with him again sometime, because there must be places in London that hold dances like this. He swallows the suggestion with effort and instead nods in agreement. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented so far! You have all been so good to me ♥
> 
>  **Next time:** As the investigation draws closer to its conclusion, Martin is targeted by a suspect and Jon makes a dangerous bet.


	7. The One Alone

Martin wakes to rumbles of thunder and the sounds of heavy rain. Jon is still asleep, which is a shock, unless he only went to bed a few hours ago. He’s on Martin’s side of the bed with one arm slung over Martin’s stomach. The realization makes his heart flutter, and he smiles. Who would have thought that Jon Sims was a cuddler? Martin hadn’t expected it, but he’d certainly hoped so.

He imagines waking up to this scene at home. If Martin forgets the hotel and the reason that they’re here, he can let himself slip into the illusion that he’s in his own bed with Jon. He pictures Jon leaving early from work the night before – which he never does, but this is a fantasy – and making them dinner for date night. It doesn’t matter what he’d cook, only that Martin would get to hear stories about his day and his dry humor over preparations for supper. After their meal, Martin imagines Jon turning on the radio and holding out his hand, pulling Martin into a dance. Jon would lead them both around the kitchen until they were tired, or at least until Martin realized that they had to put the food away, and then they would snuggle up on the couch with the television on. Later, they would prepare for bed together in the familiar, comfortable way that people do when they’re used to something, and as they settled in for the night, Jon would throw his arm over Martin out of habit. And then Martin would wake up to this. _This is perfect,_ Martin tells himself –

But then that thought rings false, like a sour note in a familiar song. The illusion cracks around him and reality abruptly rushes back in, along with the yearning and sorrow that he’d pushed down. Although being held by Jon is something that Martin has ardently wished for, it’s nothing more than a dream. This morning, this sleepy embrace, it’s a moment that Martin has stolen, an aberration that only happened due to exceptional circumstances. Tonight, when Martin goes to bed, it will be in the Archives and without Jon. Martin will not coax him into eating breakfast tomorrow morning or venture any of a thousand affectionate gestures. There will be no more partnership, no more kisses, no more talk of endearments. It shouldn’t break his heart like this, because he has spent years without those things and has never genuinely expected to have them. Now, though, he has seen and touched and tasted Jon, and letting him go is going to hurt. Even though Martin has been more or less accustomed to loneliness since he reached adulthood, this is going to hollow him out in new and painful ways.

Martin gently removes Jon’s arm from around him and slips out of bed. About twenty minutes after he’s gotten dressed and started studying the case, Jon stirs from the bed and his mood doesn’t help Martin’s melancholy. Jon is obviously frustrated that they’re leaving tonight, potentially without finding Melanie King, and Martin isn’t in the right state to help him. He doesn’t want to inflict Jon on anyone else, though, so Martin leaves the room without explanation and returns with breakfast for two. If anything, Jon seems even more unhappy about that, but he nibbles at the toast while they work.

Surprisingly, Jon remembers that they have a private therapy session with Woodgrove this morning. “Under the circumstances,” he explains, “I’d like another chance to ask about her interest in Georgie and Ms. King.” So Martin packs up his feelings in a box and forces himself to concentrate on the present rather than his future heartbreak. God knows what Jon is going to do when faced with a woman who might be a monster, but Martin is sure that it’s not going to be good.

* * *

Jon doesn’t bother with the pretense once he and Martin are seated across from Woodgrove. It might be dangerous to admit their true propose here, but time is running out. The longer they wait, the lower their chances of recovering Melanie King, and Jon feels oddly reluctant to be away from the Magnus Institute for too long. “I want to hear more about the paranormal investigators.”

“That’s not what we’re here for,” Woodgrove says.

“We can talk about the rest afterward. What can you tell us about the night that the host of Ghost Hunt UK went missing?”

Her gaze sharpens. “Don’t tell me you’re here to write a book too.”

“Our priority is Ms. King’s safety. I have no interest in competing with you.” Or in becoming her prey.

“I don’t know anything more than I told you before. She and her company came here to film something paranormal and then kicked up a fuss when it snatched her from her bed. They shouldn’t have been surprised.”

Jon folds his hands together. “That worked out nicely for you, didn’t it? The mystery continues and your rivals delay publishing.”

Woodgrove bares her teeth in an unfriendly grin. Given what Jon suspects about her, he has to fight the urge to shrink back in his chair. “You think I had something to do with it? I’m not some two-bit villain from a film. I didn’t even go near their hallway the entire night.”

Jon jumps on that. “You knew which rooms they were in?”

“It took them several trips to get all of their equipment in when they arrived. I passed them on my way to the lobby.”

“Where were you when Melanie King disappeared?”

“I was at the hotel bar for a good part of the night. Have the staff check their records for my receipt if you don’t believe me.”

“I think we will. I just have one more question: what do you know about Odette Hearth and Arcus Isle?”

She cocks her head. “I don’t know them, though I assume by your question that Odette Hearth has something to do with the hotel.”

Interesting. If Woodgrove is telling the truth about not knowing them, then she’s not connected to either of the other suspects. It doesn’t feel like she’s lying. “I see.” He pauses to clear his throat. “I want to reiterate that we are not attempting to intrude on your search for answers and we aren’t looking to publish anything. There’s no need for any drastic measures.”

“Still not convinced that I’m not responsible, hmm?” Woodgrove’s gaze drills into him for a long minute. It feels like he’s being stared down by a lion. After considering Jon, she switches her focus to Martin, who hasn’t spoken since they got here and has been unusually quiet all morning. She doesn’t seem to find what she’s looking for in his expression either. Finally, she breaks the silence: “I believe you. I don’t think you’re interested in documenting the hotel. If you’re not here for relationship counselling, though, I think the two of you should leave. There are other guests at this retreat who _do_ want my help.”

* * *

“What’s our next step?” Martin asks once they return to their room, glad to lock the door behind him. He’d had some time to observe Woodgrove during Jon’s interrogation, and while Martin doesn’t think she’s going to try anything, the look she had given them as they exited had left him ill at ease.

Jon is already digging through the piles of paperwork on the desk. “I asked Sasha to look into our suspects and send us whatever she found. I want to know if she has any updates on Dr. Woodgrove or any information on the others.” He gestures to the closed laptop on their shared bed. “Check your work email from my laptop. It’ll be easier to navigate than your phone, especially if there’s a lot of information to pull up.”

After Jon enters his computer password, Martin logs into his email. Sasha had indeed sent them more data. “It looks like we won’t need to ask the staff about Dr. Woodgrove. Sasha pulled the records from the Hearth’s restaurant, which show a receipt for Madeline Woodgrove at the hotel bar during the time that Melanie King was last seen on Ghost Hunt UK’s cameras.”

Jon sighs. “I suppose that counts as an alibi. It makes sense, though. Georgie said that their room hadn’t been disturbed at all beyond the unlocked door, which wouldn’t fit with the statements about the supposed animal attacks. Those were mostly described as vicious and messy. That takes us down to two suspects, then.”

* * *

Jon’s research is interrupted by Martin clearing his throat. “We might be down another suspect,” Martin says.

He looks up. “Which one?”

“Odette Hearth was tagged in a few posts on Facebook and Instagram. She and a couple friends got together at someone’s house for a birthday party on the night that Melanie King went missing.”

“In town?”

Martin shrugs. “I guess so. It looks like they stuck around until just after midnight, which means that she couldn’t have been responsible for what happened. Melanie King disappeared around 11 o’clock.”

“Are you certain the photos are from that night? They could have been taken in advance.”

“It’s hypothetically possible that they were taken on another night, but they were posted by a few different people at the party over the course of the evening, and the timing seems to work out.” Martin shifts to one side of the bed, leaving Jon’s half open. “I have the posts pulled up right now. Did you want to check them yourself?”

“ _No_ ,” Jon responds in a knee-jerk panic. “I mean, ah, just pass the laptop.” The past few days have proven that he can’t trust himself to remain clearheaded so close to Martin, even though he’s managed to justify everything that they’ve done so far. Kissing Martin had been for the good of their disguise, sleeping beside him had been necessary given the circumstances of the retreat, and dancing together had allowed Jon to avoid Isle and search the ballroom without provoking suspicion. Right now, however, there is no reason for Jon to join Martin in bed instead of taking his laptop to the desk. Curling up next to Martin would be too intentional. Jon’s personal desires don’t belong in this situation.

“Oh. Oh! Jon, I wasn’t trying to get you over here to – I just thought it would be more convenient if we could both see the screen,” Martin explains. “But if you’re uncomfortable with me because you figured out that I – well. You know nothing’s going to happen, right? I wouldn’t.”

“Of course nothing is going to happen,” he snaps defensively. “Why would you even suggest – neither of us wants anything to happen.”

Martin stares at him. “Neither of us wants – you mean you _don’t_ know?”

Jon wants the ground to open up and swallow him. Clearly, Martin has identified Jon’s fixation on him and thinks that Jon doesn’t know about it himself. “It’s unprofessional.”

That seems to ignite something in Martin. Jon doesn’t think he’s ever seen Martin properly angry before. “Jesus, Jon, I’m not expecting you to want me back. This whole mad weekend aside, I’ve been perfectly professional to you. You can’t just ask me to ignore my feelings like they mean nothing.”

“Wait, when you say ‘want you _back_ ’ –”

“God knows that if I could ignore them, I would,” Martin continues, steamrolling right over Jon’s dawning realization. “Do you know what it’s like to be completely gone on someone who will never see you the same way? It’s draining. Getting a glimpse of what I can’t have with you is killing me. It just – it highlights how alone I really am.”

Before Jon can correct the massive misunderstanding, there’s a loud creak behind him and his ears fill with an alarming, disorienting static. “Ow. What the hell?” He twists his head and sees the door to their room swing open with no one on the other side. Not good. Jon turns back to see if Martin has noticed, but his assistant abruptly starts to fade out like a ghost. He doesn’t seem to realize what’s happening. Jon reaches out to grab him just as Martin completely vanishes from sight, and his heart stops. “Martin?”

Something is going wrong again, like the hike. Jon has never been good at acting under pressure, but the open door and the strange static, combined with Martin’s disappearance, reminds him of Melanie King. This may have been what happened to her. He bolts for the door and slams it shut, flipping the lock and hoping that the perpetrator is still inside with him. Woodgrove and Hearth both have alibis, apparently, so there’s only one suspect left.

“I know you’re here, Isle,” Jon announces.

Arcus Isle fades into view the same way that Martin had disappeared, which seems like a handy trick for someone who’s been picking off travelers one by one. He must have been out on the trail when Jon and Martin got lost. Perhaps he even hiked out with their group from the hotel, invisible the entire time. It would explain why Odette Hearth was speaking to empty air in the hotel before the hike. She must know something about Isle, and maybe about the fires as well. Just because she hadn’t abducted Melanie King doesn’t rule her out from committing arson. Her return to the Hearth Hotel after the party in town would have been close to 1am, which was about the time that the hotel room began to burn. Additionally, Hearth had also been present in the kitchen when the oven’s flames began to spread out of control. The timing of those may not be a coincidence. What Hearth gets out of it, though, Jon couldn’t say.

Unlike their previous encounters, this time Isle looks refreshed and almost pleased. “Well, it’s hardly a surprise that you’ve put it together, given your patron.”

Whatever _that_ means. “Where’s Martin? What have you done to him?”

Isle examines his fingernails, unconcerned by the panic and anger in Jon’s voice. “I understand that feigning romance is quite an isolating activity. I sent him to the Lonely, of course.”

“What’s the Lonely?”

His eyebrows rise. “An Archivist who does not Know. How curious.”

“How did you know that Martin and I work for the Magnus Institute?”

“Oh, my family makes it their business to be aware of the Archivist, especially after the havoc that your predecessor wreaked. That said, I admit that I did not expect to come across you so far from your temple.”

That answer prompts a dozen new questions, but Jon can only follow one thread at a time. “Your family?” If there are more creatures like Isle, Jon needs to know.

“Yes, I think you would recognize my mother’s maiden name, as I understand there is a plaque in your Institute for her side of the family.” He smiles at Jon’s confusion. “The Lukases fund a great deal of the research done there.”

The Lukases, the fog, and a malicious loneliness – pieces slot into place in a way that makes Jon’s stomach drop. He thinks of Naomi Herne, lost in an empty cemetery after her fiancé’s funeral. “Bring back Martin and all the others.”

“I’ve been feeding my god for a long time, Watcher. Most of them are dead.”

“Not all of them, though?” Jon asks, seizing on a sliver of hope.

“Oh, they won’t be returning to this plane, so as far as you should be concerned, they’re all quite dead. I control their door to the Lonely, although killing me won’t grant them passage back.”

The cold, gaunt creature before him holds all the power here, like Death personified. It is unfeeling and unmerciful. Nothing can stop it or persuade it from taking what it wants. Jon is just a mortal, vulnerable human faced with something that hasn’t been human for a long time. Jon has known loss since childhood and knows that no force can stay death’s hand. There is nothing he can do.

This _can’t_ be the end, though. Jon won’t abandon Martin to his fate in some far, deserted plane. He races to come up with something, _anything_ that might turn the tide. What weaknesses might Isle have? The Death comparison snags on a memory and sticks, because Jon had consumed folktales from around the world as a child to satisfy his picky taste in literature. Humans in the old stories had been known to make wagers with ancient, powerful creatures. Maybe that’s how he can win this. “This ‘Lonely’, it’s a place?”

“More or less. Your assistant could walk the world there and never find another living soul.”

“Would you be willing to bet on that?”

Isle’s laughter grates on Jon’s ears like scraping Styrofoam, causing him to wince. There’s no mirth in the sound. “For what stakes?”

“If I can find Martin within a set time frame, you let us and the other survivors out of the Lonely. If I lose….” Jon stops. “If I lose, you can trade me for Martin. I’ll stay there.” It’s his fault that Martin was abducted, so it’s only fair that Jon pays the price.

Isle sizes up Jon. “That seems unsporting. If your rewards are going to be great, then the stakes must be high as well. If you find your assistant in the One Alone and make your _own_ exits without my assistance, then I will free the other survivor. If you lose, however, my deity will keep all three of you.”

“Done. I’ll keep the time on my watch.” He doesn’t trust that Isle won’t cheat. “I think a fair time frame is three hours. Do we have a deal?”

“You will have one hour. I confess, I look forward to witnessing the Eye’s fury at your fate. Whether I could force you into my patron’s embrace against your will is a question I do not have the answer to, but to have the Archivist _volunteer_ to enter my domain is a unique opportunity, one that I don’t intend to pass up.”

That gives Jon more information than Isle might have intended to reveal. Jon and Martin had both been out on the trails when Isle presumably summoned the fog yesterday, but he apparently doesn’t know that they had been affected by it. That means one of two things are true: either Isle is simply a gatekeeper to the Lonely, rather than its omniscient architect, or Jon and Martin had only scraped the edges of that desolate place before. It’s a terrifying thought. Jon and Martin had never been alone during their first brush with the mist, after all. Martin had held his hand through the whole encounter, and Jon shudders to think how much _worse_ the fog might be without the human connection he’d had last time. He thinks of the cold, empty hole in chest and the devouring abandonment and the disorientation of being in a place where his senses were useless. Jon feels the weight of terror in his chest and wonders if he’s just set himself an impossible task.

“Do you accept the parameters?” Isle asks, snapping Jon out of his spiral.

Will one hour be enough? Jon doesn’t know, but he’ll have to make it enough. Martin couldn’t have moved far since he vanished, right? “I accept. How do I get there?”

Isle nods at the door. “Your time starts when you cross the threshold.”

Jon doesn’t hesitate. The longer he waits, the harder it will be to find Martin. He opens the door, takes a deep breath to steady himself, and steps through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I’d like to thank everyone who has commented so far. Every response makes my whole day!
> 
>  **Next time:** Jon searches the Lonely and our heroes have a long overdue conversation.


	8. Seen

It’s eerily quiet on the other side. The low-level hum of electricity and human activity in the hotel suddenly cuts out, leaving only the sounds coming from Jon’s own feet. He’s reminded of standing outside during a snowfall, when everything goes silent except for a few distant, muffled noises, but the Lonely is missing the sense of peace that comes with gently falling snow. Jon shivers as the same heavy isolation from yesterday presses down on him. It soaks into his skin like rain in a downpour. The Lonely is heavy, freezing, and unforgiving, and Jon has the feeling that if he stops moving for a second or thinks too hard about the nature of this place, it will swallow him up. He can’t stop, though, and he can’t afford to fall prey if he’s going to find Martin within the next hour.

Jon glances up and down the hall, which has filled with a slowly thickening fog. He can only see about ten feet in either direction. “Martin, are you there? Martin?” He ducks back into their empty room to check the bathroom, closet, and space under the bed. Where would Martin have gone? Would he have left the room, or is he still here, unseen? Jon can’t tell. There are no signs that someone else is moving about in the space, and when he checks his mobile for a signal, the screen refuses to turn on. He jots a note for Martin on the corner of a folder and waits exactly two minutes for a written reply, conscious of his watch ticking away the seconds. When two minutes have passed, he adds a postscript explaining that he’s going to search the rest of the hotel. If Martin comes across this note, hopefully he’ll start exploring too and they’ll run into each other.

In the hallway, the neighboring doors are all locked and Jon can’t hear any movement behind them. Eventually, he finds a janitorial cart and swipes the abandoned set of keys on top, wishing he knew where else to start looking. Martin deserves better than the stumbling efforts of one man who doesn’t know the rules of this lonely purgatory. “I’m sorry,” he says to the silent hallway, wondering if Martin can somehow hear him.

This is all Jon’s fault. He had made Martin vulnerable to Isle by accepting his help for this ruse. Jon should have just done this on his own, or at least tried to minimize Martin’s involvement to avoid painting a target on him. Instead, he had engineered a scenario that was perfect for Isle to prey on his assistant. The fact that Jon hadn’t known about Martin’s feelings for him is no excuse. Martin has been kind and helpful all weekend, and Jon had pushed him further into loneliness because of his own fears. It’s not fair to Martin that Jon has spent three and a half years too terrified to acknowledge or act on the soft feelings he has for Martin.

Jon has been such a fool. If he doesn’t lose Isle’s bet, if he and Martin get out of this place, he’ll confess everything, even though Martin may not want him once he realizes that Jon is the reason they got into this mess. It also won’t help that Jon has been cold and cutting on purpose to avoid dealing with his emotions.

This long-overdue conversation can’t happen unless Jon finds him, though. After a methodical search of every open door on their floor, Jon considers where else Martin may have gone upon landing in the Lonely. If he’d gone looking for other people, then the place with the most potential for activity would be the lobby. Unfortunately, when Jon treks down, he finds it just as empty and foggy as their floor. Where else would Martin go? Jon only has an hour, so he can’t search the building room by room. He also can’t assume that Martin had stayed inside the hotel. Jon glances around the lobby for ideas and a brief shift in the fog reveals a security camera above the concierge desk. Well, that’s an idea.

He uses the blurred ID badge on the keyring to bypass the electronic lock. Once inside the security room, Jon studies the camera feeds on each of the monitors above the long desks. Every image is devoid of people, every hallway and exit perfectly still apart from the silent mist. The ability to survey most of the hotel in one fell swoop should ease his mind, but it only serves to remind Jon of the building’s size and the fact that he’s on a deadline. He takes a moment to consider his next steps. When Martin’s phone hadn’t worked, what would he have done next? Maybe he left the hotel to go for help. Jon picks out the video feed of the parking lot and sees that the rental car is still there. He hadn’t tried to get into town, then. Would he have gone up and down the halls, shouting for anyone who could hear him?

Actually, that sounds a lot like some of the statements they have from the Hearth. Jon systematically visits each of the spots where disembodied voices have been reported, wondering if perhaps it’s easier to be heard there or slip back into the real world. He doesn’t know if Martin would have thought to try. Jon digs his nails into his palms until they hurt, wishing furiously that he knew more about Martin Blackwood. He reaches for the memory of Martin subtly questioning the other guests at the opening ceremonies, of Martin pointing out the pattern among the dates of the paranormal sightings, of Martin carefully considering the details of their façade on the train –

Of Martin holding his hand in the woods and saying, “ _If we get separated, whoever gets out of here first should wait at the sign by the trailhead_.”

He knows where Martin is.

Jon races out of the hotel and towards the woods, searching amid the cloudy gloom for the wooden sign marking the start of the path. “Martin! If you’re there and it’s not too late, I want to talk.” His heart pounds in the long silence that follows. Jon’s hour is nearly up. “I want you back. I have for years.”

“Jon?” As quickly as he’d vanished before, Martin comes into view before him. He looks around from where he’s stood in front of the signpost, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “Jon, are you there? Where are you?”

Jon approaches Martin and reaches for his hand, clutching it tightly in both of his own. “I’m right here. Can you see me?”

His eyes suddenly focus on Jon. “I see you.”

Relief floods him. “Martin,” he starts, but then doesn’t know how to finish his sentence. His mouth fills with ridiculous, sentimental words that he struggles to keep behind his teeth. How can he distill three and a half years of suppressed feeling into a single sentence?

“What are you doing here? Did the fog get you too?”

Right, Martin doesn’t know about Isle or the Lonely. “Not exactly. I, er, might have done something rash. It’s worked out so far, but we need to leave right now.”

Martin shoots him a calculating look. “What did you do?”

“In my defense, I didn’t exactly have much time to think.”

“Jon.”

“We don’t have time for long explanations. I made a bet with the monster that took you and it agreed to release you and Melanie King if I found you and we made it out of here before an hour was up.”

“Jon!”

“Look, I couldn’t just _leave_ ,” Jon insists.

Martin sighs. “I suppose not. You still hadn’t found Ms. King.”

“Or you.” The mess of words are right there on his tongue, words that would start to clear up the misunderstanding they’d had before Isle arrived, but Jon can’t say them. He doesn’t know whether to start with an apology or a confession, and getting the order wrong might cost him someone important. They don’t have time for Jon to navigate his emotions. And with the reminder of the deadline, he checks his watch and winces.

“How long?”

“Four minutes left,” Jon admits.

“God. Where should we start looking for an exit?”

Jon tilts his head back and considers the ominous sky between the trees. “This is a dimension of embodied loneliness, ostensibly controlled to some degree by Arcus Isle. I’m not sure there’s a door with an exit sign.” Jon had passed through the door to their room several times during his search, and it hadn’t triggered the rush of sound and activity that the real world would’ve brought with it. “We could start where his other victims managed to be heard in our world. This plane may not be too far from ours.”

Martin seems to pick up on Jon’s uncertainty. “What are our other options? You said this place is somehow made of loneliness?”

“Isle finds people who feel isolated and then forces them here.” Isolated, like Melanie must have felt alone in her room and hurting from the anniversary of her father’s death, according to Georgie’s statement. Isolated, like Martin had felt only a short while ago because of Jon’s behavior. A wave of guilt abruptly crashes over him. “Martin, I didn’t mean – before Isle arrived, I said some things –”

“I know, I’m sure that if you knew about this place, you wouldn’t have said them. I know.”

Silence stretches between them as they struggle for other ideas. Jon resists the urge to check his watch again. It’s not going to tell him anything he doesn’t already know. “I should have thought to question Isle more about this lonely, godforsaken landscape,” he grouses.

Martin’s brow suddenly furrows. “Hold on. You said that we need to be lonely before we can be dragged here. That means something, right? We have to be sufficiently vulnerable or compromised to get brought in. Following that logic, maybe the reverse is true as well. Maybe we can leave when we don’t feel isolated anymore.”

Jon has never been good with intuition, but that idea resonates with him in a way that feels right. He cannot _believe_ that their lives depend on him being able to express his feelings within the next minute. Apology or confession? The former might be slightly less excruciating, and since he doesn’t have time to second-guess himself, he goes for it: “I owe you an apology for the way I’ve treated you in the past.”

“You don’t need to. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. I can’t fathom why you liked me. Don’t tell me,” he says as Martin opens his mouth. “I’m not fishing for your reasons. I’m saying that you could do better than someone who – who – who channels any unwanted emotions into annoyance. Who tried very hard not to like you and failed spectacularly.”

Martin’s face falls. “I appreciate that you’re trying to get us out of here, but you don’t need to lie about something like that.”

Jon wants to kick himself for being such a prick. “I’m not. Lying is what got us into this mess, apparently.” He reaches for Martin’s other hand, and to his relief, Martin doesn’t resist. With effort, Jon makes himself continue. It feels like stepping off a cliff with no guarantee that his parachute will open. “I’ve been lying for, ah, quite a while now. Three and a half years, I’d say?”

Martin sucks in a sharp breath. “ _Jon_. I think I’m missing something. For a second there, it sounded like you said you’ve liked me for three and a half years.”

“Yes,” Jon answers.

As Martin stares at him, speechless, Jon hears the distant chirps of birdsong and the soft rustles of other wildlife fading back in. He doesn’t take his eyes off Martin, but he can tell that the fog is receding by the way a cold weight lifts off his shoulders. Jon starts to feel raindrops on his skin, sharper and more real than the cold, damp mist, and he remembers that it had been drizzling when he left the physical world. It seems that the two of them are back.

“Who the hell are you?” someone demands from Jon’s left, and he almost wrenches his neck turning to find the source. The short woman there looks bedraggled and exhausted, but still projects a healthy air of suspicion. “I checked every inch of the hotel and spent three days searching the woods. There was no one for miles. How’d you two get here? More importantly, how’d you get me out here from the kitchens?”

It takes a moment, but Jon recognizes her from Ghost Hunt UK’s video footage. “Melanie King?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Jon Sims. We were looking for you. Georgie Barker sent us, sort of.”

The woman squints at him. “Jon, huh? Georgie’s weird ex from her band in uni?”

Jon scowls. Somehow, no one at the Magnus Institute had uncovered anything yet from his university days, which is a miracle given Tim’s tendency to google their coworkers over lunch. “‘Weird’ is a very subjective word.”

“Oh, you’re definitely the weird ex. I _knew_ you were pedantic.”

“You were in a band?” Martin asks, shocked and delighted.

Now Sasha and Tim are going to know too. “It was a long time ago and not important.”

“Georgie showed me the YouTube videos,” Melanie declares. “I didn’t recognize you without the makeup.”

Jon can tell that every word out of Melanie’s mouth is just fueling Martin’s curiosity further. “Why don’t you call Georgie and let her know you’re alright,” Jon grits out, face burning with embarrassment. “We’re all back in the proper world now and she’s been worried.” He releases one of Martin’s hands and fumbles for his mobile. Thankfully, Melanie accepts his phone and drops the subject. She takes a few steps away from them while she makes her call, leaving Jon and Martin alone again.

* * *

Martin braces himself for the inevitable confession that Jon had been lying or exaggerating to get them out of that lonely place. This can’t be something he gets to keep. Martin just isn’t lucky enough to hold onto that kind of happiness.

“What wrong, Martin?”

He sighs. “We’re back where we’re meant to be. Now what?” He’s not talking about the case.

Thankfully, Jon doesn’t feign ignorance. “I’m not good with feelings,” he admits with a grimace.

Martin snorts. “I never would have guessed. Are you going to let me down easy?”

“Let you down…? Martin, I meant what I said in there.”

“Oh.” Martin feels the tension wash out of him. It’s replaced by an incredulous, tentative happiness that he doesn’t have the capacity to examine at the moment. Jon likes him? After years of dreaming about it, this seems unrealistic. It feels good, though. For a moment, Martin wonders if Isle’s empty world had killed him and this is some strange prelude to the afterlife. Then, he shakes the idea off. This has to be real – Martin never would have imagined Jon admitting (even indirectly) that he’d been in a college band. Or that he’d been pining for Martin for almost as long as Martin has been crushing on him.

“While we were in there, I also said that I owe you an apology. At this point, it’s probably several apologies.” Jon pauses and tilts his head the way he does when he’s organizing his thoughts. Martin privately thinks it’s adorable. “The first is that I’m sorry for allowing my fear of developing feelings to affect how I treated you. That wasn’t fair.”

Martin knows that caring about someone can be terrifying. Love is tied to pain and loss in a way that can make people react strangely to it. Not that Jon is _in love_ with him, per se, but he’s just admitted to having feelings for Martin. “I understand.”

“Secondly, I should have made you aware of the mistakes I found in your work so that you could learn from them. It was unprofessional of me to let you perpetuate the problems. I’m sorry for that as well.”

Martin frowns. “Why didn’t you tell me about those, by the way? It’s been four years. You could have sent me an email or asked one of the others to say something, if you didn’t want to interact in person.”

Jon’s face reddens and he looks like he’s struggling to find the right words. “It wasn’t a logical decision. If I didn’t cultivate superficial reasons to dislike you, I think I would have, metaphorically, thrown myself at you before long.” Martin’s heart flips at the confession. That doesn’t sound like a small, harmless crush. That sounds like something that’s been growing for a long time. “I thought that if I never started anything with you, then it couldn’t hurt later. The less said about my relationship history, the better.”

“Oh, Jon.”

“And lastly,” Jon continues, clearly determined to power through his discomfort, “everything that happened this weekend was my fault. I allowed you to come along and it almost ended badly. You never would’ve been taken by Isle if not for my behavior and actions.”

“That part isn’t your fault. I agreed to help you, even knowing that it might be dangerous. My feelings are not your responsibility and we had no idea why those people were targeted.”

“I was the one who insisted that we blend in with the other guests by pretending to be together. We didn’t have to do that, so I bear at least some of the blame.”

It’s not really worth fighting over whose fault it was. “We’ll split it, then.” Jon doesn’t look completely satisfied with that, but he nods. Martin takes the opportunity to bring up something else. “I have something to apologize for as well. I, um –” just say it, just _say_ it “– this weekend I took advantage of you,” he blurts out.

Jon raises his eyebrows. “I think I would have remembered that.”

“Not like that. I mean with the ‘practice’,” he clarifies as his gaze drifts down to Jon’s lips. “I used you. It was just supposed to be for our disguise, but I meant it, all of it. That’s not what you consented to and I shouldn’t have brought my feelings into it.”

Jon steps in closer and leans up, cupping the back of Martin’s neck. When he’s close enough that Martin can feel his breath on his lips, Jon says in a low voice, “We’ll have to split the blame on that too,” and kisses him.

It’s gentler than their previous interludes. There’s still passion and heart-pounding excitement, but Martin takes his time on this one. Unlike the previous two occasions, this time he has some assurance that this isn’t the last chance he’ll get to kiss Jon. There’s no desperation. This time, he wants to explore. As Martin does just that, Jon slides his hands through Martin’s hair and continues to give him slow, heavenly kisses. Martin happily drowns in the tide of joy blooming in his chest, in the soft give-and-take between them. They sync together so well like this. Perhaps Martin will get another dance with Jon after all.

“ _Martin_ ,” Jon breathes when they separate, his voice rough with feeling.

After a few moments, Martin recovers enough breath to speak. “Should we get coffee when we get back to London?” He’s happy to go at Jon’s pace, but he wants to confirm that this is something real. When they both get home, he needs to know that this weekend won’t get swept under the rug, as unlikely as that may be in light of recent revelations.

“I think I would like that. Monday?”

That’s tomorrow. Martin can’t wait for their date, and apparently Jon can’t either. The thought makes his heart flutter. “Oh, I think I can fit it into my busy social calendar.”

* * *

Jon snorts. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll manage to work it into mine as well.” He leans up and kisses Martin again, just because he can. It’s still so thrilling. When they break apart for air, Jon’s mind turns towards the practicalities that need to be sorted out. “Speaking of Monday, though, we need to talk about work. I don’t think I should be your manager if we’re going to be doing this.” He doesn’t ever want to put Martin in a position where he worries about how their relationship will affect his job or what it will look like to their coworkers if he dates his boss. “Also, beyond my personal reservations about the power imbalance, there’s the Institute’s policy to consider. Unless it’s changed in the past few years, I believe one of us will have to switch departments, since I’m a supervisor. We’ll have to research it more when we get home.”

Martin smiles. “Well, research is our strong suit, so I’m sure we’ll figure it out. This weekend alone we managed to solve a missing persons case, escape from some hellish alternate dimension, and finally confront four years of feelings.”

That surprises a laugh out of Jon. He finds that he’s looking forward to research with Martin, especially if it involves learning more about his apparently sharp sense of humor and his ability to kiss Jon within an inch of his life. “I suppose you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the staff goes feral when Elias changes the Magnus Institute’s relationship policy specifically because of those two nerds in the Archives. Unfortunately for him, Elias doesn’t have another choice – Jon and Martin went to HR with questions and it’s not like he can transfer one of them to a different department.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left comments on this fic. I treasure every single one, and your enthusiasm has brought me joy and has motivated me to make this story as polished as possible. You’ve all been such a lovely audience ♥

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to read my other tma fics, click [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeridianGrimm/works?fandom_id=11812534).
> 
> Find me on my [tumblr](http://meridiangrimm.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk about The Magnus Archives.


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